Can a city boy make good in the Wild West?

After Wall Street collapses, investment banker Griff McPherson trades in his suits and ties for Stetsons and cowboy boots. He returns to the Wyoming ranch he co-owns with his brother, but it’s not exactly a happy homecoming. So to prove to everyone, including himself, that he belongs back in Jackson Hole, he takes a post as a wrangler on another ranch.

Air force lieutenant Val Hunter has just returned to the Bar H ranch to help her ailing grandmother run the property. While it is full of unhappy memories, Val is determined to do right by her home. Her new hire is easy on the eyes and a tough wrangler to boot, yet her instincts make it hard for her to trust him. When a nefarious neighbor endangers her land, Val is forced to accept Griff’s help—but will she finally be able to open her heart?

Praise for Lindsay McKenna

“McKenna’s latest is an intriguing tale…a unique twist

on the romance novel, and one that’s sure to please.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dangerous Prey

“Riveting.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Quest

“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”

—RT Book Reviews on Unforgiven

“Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension and sexuality abound in this fast-paced, absorbing novel.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman

“Another masterpiece.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Enemy Mine

“Emotionally charged…riveting and deeply touching.”

—RT Book Reviews on Firstborn

“Ms. McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous odyssey in which complex characters experience the danger,

passion and beauty of the mystical jungle.”

—RT Book Reviews on Man of Passion

“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure.”

—RT Book Reviews on Protecting His Own

“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the

daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives.…

Buckle in for the ride of your life.”

—Writers Unlimited on Heart of Stone

The Wrangler

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader:

The Wrangler comes from my background of growing up in the rural West. Our neighbors were ranchers, sheepherders or farmers. At one time, we had a milk cow named Elizabeth. At six years old, I learned how to milk. Of course, our barn cats loved milking time, too. They would line up near my stool as I milked Elizabeth. I would take one teat and squirt the stream of warm milk toward the nearest cat. She would stand up on her hind legs, mouth open, gulping it down. Not a drop of milk ever hit the wooden floor. Or the time when a neighbor’s milk cow had a calf and we got to watch it being birthed. I was lucky enough to have such experiences, and inevitably they end up in the pages of one of my books. I can only write what I know and share it with you. It’s not always the big events of life that we remember, but the small, emotionally satisfying ones. Such as giving milk to the kitties at 5:00 a.m. on a chilly morning.

Ranching and farming are a hard way of life, but a worthy one in my opinion. My husband and I bred, raised and showed Arabian horses for a decade in Ohio. My love of horses has been around since I was a three-year-old, when I was put in the saddle for the first time. Being close to the earth, working with it, not against it, brings a fondness to my heart. People raised in cities never know the joy of sitting in a saddle, mending a fence line, digging post holes, working on an old truck engine or repairing a hay baler. They’ve never seen real milk come from a cow. Or heard the bleat of a newborn lamb, or watched the struggling efforts of a tiny foal trying to get to her feet for the first time.

I hope to translate my rural life experiences to you in the Wyoming series. Griff McPherson is Slade’s twin brother. You met Slade in The Last Cowboy. For Griff, born on a cattle ranch in Wyoming, his life is suddenly upended by tragedy. At only five years old, he lost his parents in a car accident. Luckily his uncle from New York City rescued him from a foster home and took him in. Griff went from rural to city life. And along the way he lost his Wyoming soul. This is a story of redemption. Many people are thrown brutal curves in life. Somehow their heart, their inner knowing can act like an unerring compass. It can help them turn around and head in the right direction. Griff is about to make a life-changing decision. Will his Wyoming genes trump the call of rich city life or not?

Lindsay McKenna

Rosemarie Brown, astrologer extraordinaire, who has been a part of my life for more than twenty years and still counting… I’m very lucky to have walked at your side through the good times and the bad times. Above all, I cherish your wisdom, your heart and incredible vision. I hope the rest of your life is nothing but an ongoing rainbow of beauty, happiness and unfoldment. Longtime friends are like diamonds; they are dazzling, but in the case of friends, money can never buy them. Thanks for being there for me, and I’m glad I could be—and always will be—there for you when you need support. Unlike family, real friends stick with you through “thick ’n’ thin.” Friends, in my view, are a greater cosmic family and they love you, warts and all. Thank you.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

HOME...IT WAS the last place that Val Hunter wanted to be. She stood in the coolness of the Wyoming morning facing her past. The taxi had just dropped her off at the main house of the Bar H ranch. She bitterly recalled when her father, Buck Hunter, had remodeled the old one-story log home. Now, the house rose two stories and looked like an iconic cedar palace. Val’s mouth quirked as she heard the robins singing in the background. They sounded so happy in contrast to how she felt.

She had to enter the home and let her grandmother, Augusta Hunter, know that she’d arrived. Gus, as everyone called her, had been the only bright spot in Val’s upbringing. And she owed it to Gus to come home even though her heart felt weighted. Hot tears jammed into her eyes and Val hung her head and fought them back. Compressing her lips once her eyes were cleared, she picked up her two suitcases and slowly trudged up the cedar stairs as if she were going to her death.

After knocking on the huge wooden door with the emblem for Bar H carved across it, Val waited. It didn’t take long for a small woman with short silver hair to answer.

“Val!” she cried, her face lighting up.

“Hi, Gus. I made it home.”

Throwing her arms around her granddaughter, Gus held her for a long time. “Thank you for coming,” Gus said in a wobbly voice. She released Val and stood back, a cane in her left hand. “Come in. I have coffee waitin’ for us.”

Giving her short, wiry grandmother a forced half smile, Val picked up her luggage. It was always chilly on Wyoming mornings in June. “Thanks,” she murmured, setting down the bags and closing the door behind her. Gus hobbled on her cane as she limped down the hall. “I’ll take these to my old bedroom?”

“Yep, it’s waiting for you.” Gus pointed toward the polished stairs. “You get settled in and then come down and join me in the kitchen. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I got breakfast on the flight over to Jackson Hole,” Val said. Gus halted at the opening on the right, which led to a huge kitchen. A kitchen that her father had built for her mother, Cheryl, many years earlier. Bitterness swept through Val. She passed her grandmother and headed up the stairs.

Her father had been violently drunk one night. He’d beat her mother so badly that she’d had to remain in the hospital for three days. After she got home, Buck had been apologetic and promised her that kitchen she’d always dreamed of having. He hadn’t built it because he loved Cheryl. No, it was a kitchen created out of guilt, terror and pain.

The hollow echo of her feet on the stairs sounded like an invisible ball and chain from the past. Her old bedroom was to the right of the stairs. Everything looked the same, as if time hadn’t touched it. Yet, as Val trudged unwillingly toward her room of terrible memories, she wondered how her grandmother managed to keep the house so clean. It was a large two-story home and Gus had broken her hip shortly after Cheryl died. Before that, Gus and Cheryl had lived here at the Bar H together, barely keeping it on life support. Val was ready to pull the plug on it.

Nudging the bedroom door open with the toe of her shoe, Val stepped into her hated past. On the bed, she saw the colorful flying geese quilt that Gus had made for her when she was ten years old. She set the bags on the floor, staring at the red, white and blue quilt. How many times had she wrapped herself up in it pretending that Gus was there, holding her? Holding her safe against her father? Of course, back then, Gus had lived with her husband, Pete, on a five-thousand-acre spread near Cheyenne, Wyoming. And Val knew her mother had worked hard not to let Gus know what was really going on at the Bar H.

Sighing, Val turned and studied the quiet room. There were frilly white curtains bracketing the large window, light pouring in and making it seem far more peaceful than she felt. Her childhood had returned. Only this time, her mother or father weren’t present. It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling and Val didn’t know how to deal with it. Why had she agreed to come home?

She went back downstairs. The only comfort in this life change she was making was being with her feisty eighty-four-year-old grandmother. Entering the warm kitchen, she saw Gus setting two mugs of steaming coffee on the rectangular cedar table.

“Ah, there you are. Come and sit down,” Gus invited with a smile. “I’ve got your sugar and cream here.” She noodled an arthritic finger toward the white porcelain containers sitting in the center of the table.

“Why don’t you sit down, Gus? You’re the one with a broken hip.” Val pulled out a chair for her grandmother.

“Thanks, honey.” Gus slowly lowered herself into it and propped the cane against the edge of the table. Smiling up at her, she murmured, “I can’t tell you how good it is that you’re home.” Gus gestured to the other side of the table. “Come on, sit down, Val. Let’s talk over coffee. That’s always a soothing, positive activity.” Gus chuckled indulgently.

Val couldn’t help but smile. As she walked around the table and sat opposite her silver-haired grandmother with her sparkling, lively blue eyes, a tiny part of her felt happy. The burden of the years living at the Bar H had overwhelmed any optimistic feelings. Picking up the creamer, Val said, “This is nice. Thanks for having coffee ready for me.”

“God’s lifeline.” Gus picked up her mug of black coffee. She raised it in a toast and then took a sip. “Westerners and their coffee are one and the same.” Sliding her work-worn fingers around the white mug, Gus watched Val as she poured the cream and sugar into her coffee. “I’m really sorry that I had to ask you to leave your career in the Air Force and come back home. I know what kind of courage it took to walk away from something you loved in order to help me.”

Val tasted the strong coffee and set the mug down. She reached across the table and brushed her grandmother’s hand. “I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else,” she said in a whisper, a catch in her tone. “You know that.”

Gus puckered her thin lips and nodded gravely. “You know, honey, when your mama died last year and you came home for the funeral, I knew…”

“Knew what?”

Gus shrugged and smiled a little. “I had this feeling you were coming home for good. Oh, I know you swore never to return.” Her silver brows fell and she scowled. “What I didn’t know is three months after your ma’s passin’, I’d fall out there at the corral and bust my femur.” She touched her right hip in memory of the accident.

“I know you’re giving up your career as an intelligence officer for this ranch.”

“I’m not doing it for the ranch. I’m doing it for you.”

Gus was truly a savior in Val’s life. Shortly after Cheryl had been released from the hospital that time Buck had laid into her, Gus had suddenly lost her husband to a massive stroke. After the funeral, Gus had sold her husband’s ranch and moved into the Bar H house. Val soon discovered Buck wouldn’t beat up her and her mother with Gus around. From that time forward, she remembered Gus as a guardian angel.

The tough woman rancher might have been only five foot tall and a weighed a mere hundred pounds, but Buck wasn’t about to push the envelope on her fierce protectiveness. And that’s exactly what Val and her mother had needed: protection from Buck. Gus had been a shield against her father for Val’s last two years spent in this house and for that she was forever grateful to her grandmother.

Reaching out, Val took Gus’s hand and squeezed it. “You saved us from harm and that’s why I came back. I wanted to pay you back for what you did for Mom and me.”

Gus sighed and her blue eyes teared up as she squeezed Val’s fingers. She gave Val a trembling smile and released her hand. “I didn’t know what Buck was doing until he landed your mother in the hospital. Cheryl never let on, not until I visited her in the hospital that time. Lord knows, I wished I’d known sooner.”

“My father was so careful to bruise me where no one would see it,” Val muttered. “He knew what he was doing. But my mother didn’t have the guts to call the sheriff. I still can’t believe she’d let my father beat the hell out of me.” Val shook her head, anger bubbling up within her as it always did when she thought about that time in her life. “Why didn’t my mother ever protect us, Gus?”

“Honey,” Gus said gently, “your ma was so beaten down by that bastard that she didn’t know she could ask for help and get it.”

“Why didn’t you take that information to the sheriff, Gus? I could never understand.”

“Because your ma pleaded with me not to. She wanted to go back to Buck. She said she loved him. And when Pete suddenly died, I knew I had to get over here. I felt Buck would leave you two alone if I was in the house, and I was right. So while I couldn’t go to the authorities, I did the next best thing.”

“You have no idea how grateful I was that you moved here, Gus.” Val gave her a look of admiration. “You gave up your whole way of life in order to protect us. I’ll never forget what you did.”

Giving her a gentle look, Gus said, “Honey, I’d do it all over again. I have no regrets about any of my decisions. My gut told me that Buck would stop if I was around. He was the kind of man who was so wounded, so scarred by life, that all he knew how to do was take his anger out on others. Truth be told, I had a baseball bat hidden in the closet and I swore to myself that if he ever lifted a pinkie against either of you, I was going to beat the hell outta him.” Gus gave her a wicked smile.

Val knew she meant it. Even Buck knew it. “You’re a force of nature, Gus. You always have been.” Val managed a slight smile toward her plucky grandmother.

Val unconsciously rubbed her tightened stomach. Looking around the warm, bright kitchen, she uttered, “This place is nothing but a vat of lousy memories for me, Gus.”

Gus reached out and patted her hand. “Honey, I know how much I was asking of you when I made that phone call to you in Bahrain. I knew you hated Buck and hated this house.”

Val slipped her hands around the mug of hot coffee. Warmth against the iciness inhabiting her knotted gut. “Like I said, I’m here because of you, Gus. If you hadn’t broken your hip, I couldn’t have gotten out of the Air Force. Because of the situation, I was able to get what they call a hardship discharge.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. An elder like me with a cranky hip can’t run this place alone.”

“Gus, why save the Bar H at all?” Val drilled a look into her grandmother’s wrinkled, darkly tanned features.

“Why not?” The elder perked up, feisty now. “This is your home, Val. It doesn’t have to always be the terrible place it was for you as a child. You can create happy memories here, too. I had to sell our ranch in Cheyenne and it was the last thing I wanted to do. Pete’s family started that ranch a hundred and twenty years ago. It broke my heart to have to leave it in order to come back here. But I did it. Sometimes, life puts huge demands on us we don’t want to face. But we must sacrifice for a greater good.”

Guiltily, Val said, “You gave up so much. I knew you were grieving for Grandpa Pete’s passing. And I know you two spent your sixty years together building that spread into a profitable ranch. You walked away from all of it for us, Gus. Even at sixteen I realized the terrible sacrifice you made for us.”

“I did it,” Gus said, her voice firm, “because you two were far more important than our ranch. Family comes first. Always. You’re my granddaughter and all I ever wanted for you was happiness.”

“That didn’t happen,” Val said in a rasp, fighting back rising emotions. She held her grandmother’s teary blue gaze.

“I just wanted to put this whole damn thing behind me, Gus. I never wanted to be here again.”

“Then,” Gus said gently, “maybe it’s time to start healing up from it? Everyone deserves to have a home. A place where they came from. A place where they can come back to and call their own. Us Westerners believe in family, home and loyalty. Maybe between you and me some healing and good might come from this.”

“You’re such an optimist, Gus.”

Perking up, she grinned. “Yes, I hold out hope for hopeless, that’s for sure. Pete always called me a cockeyed idealist,” and she chuckled.

Laughing a little with her grandmother, Val took a sip of the hearty coffee. She thought back on her life since she’d left this ranch. She’d gone to college at eighteen. From there, she went into the Air Force. She was twenty-eight now. She’d only spent six years in the military and had been counting on making it to twenty years so she’d have a pension. “This ranch’s back is broken, Gus. The corrals are in terrible shape. The barn needs a new roof. I don’t see any cattle. I see a few horses out in one pasture. This place is not a moneymaker, it’s nothing but a money pit.”

Nodding, Gus said, “After Buck died of a heart attack, your mother made a lot of poor choices insofar as hiring good wranglers. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know how to budget because Buck kept her out of the money and finances. He refused to let her know anything about the running of the ranch, and he took all his knowledge of keeping this ranch solvent to the grave with him. I tried to pick up the slack, figure out the accounting books, but there was only so much I could do.”

Val recalled that time. “I celebrated when Mom told me Buck had died.”

“No one can blame you, honey. But without Buck, this ranch went to hell in a handbasket. Your mom was depressed. No matter what kind of medication the doctors put her on, she spiraled deeper and deeper into a very dark place. I couldn’t talk or reason with her. She just locked herself away in her room.”

Val’s heart wrung with pain over her mother’s decline. She hadn’t been there to help her. She’d run as far away as she could.

“When it came to finding the accounting books,” Gus continued, “and then discovering all the places Buck squirreled money away, it took me a year to figure it all out. And your mother, by that time, had been diagnosed with the most virulent form of breast cancer and she died six months afterward.”

Val recalled the phone calls, the fact her mother was drifting away from her. Val had felt abandoned and adrift. “I remember the funeral.”

“Yes, and I remember telling you not to worry, that I could handle the Bar H. I felt at the time, I could bring it back bit by bit. But your mom chose wranglers like she chose Buck. They were young men who talked the talk but couldn’t walk the walk. That series of wranglers did nothing but allow the ranch to slide further into destruction. Good wranglers are worth their weight in gold.”

“And then, you fell and broke your hip,” Val said. She saw what the Bar H meant to her grandmother because of the fierce look that sparked in her watery blue eyes. Her jaw was set. Val knew the bulldog feistiness she’d always possessed was there even at eighty-four. “But even if that hadn’t happened, no one person could ever run this two-hundred-acre ranch by themselves.”

“No, I couldn’t. And then the hip replacement went wrong, and I’m stuck with this damned cane for the rest of my life. I can’t ride a horse or go out and mend the fences. So much was taken away from me when I broke my hip, Val. I grieved over this situation a long time before calling and asking you to come home. I don’t want to see this ranch sold, too. It broke my heart to sell ours. I cried for weeks over that decision. I was hurting so badly from Pete suddenly being torn away from me, too. We were a good team. The best of friends. And then, suddenly, in one moment, he was gone….”

Val reached out and gripped her grandmother’s hand, its knuckles slightly enlarged with arthritis. “You’ve had to go through so much, Gus. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey, I know you are. We’ve all gone through our share, it seems. When Cheryl would bring you to visit our ranch in Cheyenne, I couldn’t understand why you were such a shy shadow that hid from all of us. And every time Pete came near you, you were like a wild horse running in the other direction. Lord, how I wish I had picked up on your reactions properly. After the fact, I talked to a therapist about abused children. It was then I realized you were terribly wounded and wouldn’t trust any man. Not even my Pete. And he was one of the most gentle, loving men you could ever meet.”

Dragging in a huge breath of air, Val felt as if the weight of the world was bearing down on her shoulders. “Gus, you can’t blame yourself for not knowing what was going on. I myself wish I’d done something. If only I’d called the sheriff. Or talked to one of my teachers.”

“Don’t go there,” Gus warned her. “You were innocent in all of his, Val. You were a trusting, vulnerable child.”

Hot tears wedged into Val’s eyes. With an angry swipe, she wiped them away. “I just couldn’t ever understand why my Mom lied to the doctors when she was taken to the hospital. She had a broken arm and collar bone, eyes blackened and both cheeks fractured. And she lied to them! She told them she’d been bucked off a horse, hit the pipe corral fence and then fell to the ground.” Gulping, Val stared helplessly at Gus. “They believed her! When you came here and told me that, I just felt like I was going to implode with rage.”

“You were raised in a toxic environment, so you thought love was being beat. You never knew any different as a child. How could you?”

“I’ve tried so hard to forget my past!” Val choked, the tears flowing down her taut cheeks. “When you asked me to come here, I threw up. I couldn’t hold back the fear, the memories avalanching me again.”

Gus scraped the chair back, picked up her cane and hobbled around the table. Leaning down, she slipped one arm around Val’s shoulders and kissed her red hair. “You’ve had nothing but pain from the time you were born,” Gus agreed. “But you listen to me. You’re a Hunter. You have the blood of my family running strong through you, Val. I know this is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but really, it isn’t.”

Val lifted her head, the tears blurring her grandmother’s deeply wrinkled face inches away from hers. “W-what do you mean?”

“Honey,” Gus said in a whisper, placing a kiss on her wrinkled brow, “the worst was living in this house when Buck was alive. He’s dead and gone now. I know you have the past to work through, but he ain’t here any longer. That makes this easier than the first eighteen years of your life, doesn’t it?” She gently held Val’s tearful blue gaze.

“I—I don’t know.”

“I do. Besides,” Gus said, gently wiping the tears from Val’s pale cheeks, “you have me. Together, you and I are a force to behold. We can bring this ranch back to life, and make it even better than before. We can make it beautiful, successful and you’ll have the money you need for when you want to retire.” Giving her a soft smile, Gus added, “Family should be a team, Val. Oh, it’s true, there’s always a rotten apple in every family barrel, but don’t walk away from it all just because of one person. Your ma put her heart and soul into the Bar H. Now, we’ll do the same. Together…”

CHAPTER TWO

THE SWEET SMELL of alfalfa hay entered Griff McPherson’s nostrils. He walked into the large, airy barn, carrying a huge baling hook in each of his hands. A ranch customer had backed his Chevy truck up against the lip of the wooden platform and was waiting for twenty bales to be placed onto its bed. Sweat trickled down the sides of Griff’s temples as he approached the first bale and quickly sank the long, sharp hooks into it. With a grunt, he hefted the eighty-pound bale out of the building and dropped it into the truck. He reveled in his strength, feeling close to the earth and to all life of late. Working at Andy’s Horse Emporium, a central place in the valley for ranchers to buy hay, feed and other supplies gave him deep and growing satisfaction.

Just having a job in this sputtering economy made Griff feel grateful as he walked quickly back into the barn. His well-worn boots thunked hollowly against the graying oak plank floor. Andy had taken pity on him when Griff’s brother Slade had kicked him out of the family ranch house. Mouth tightening as he leaned down and hooked a second bale, Griff turned and walked it out to the truck.

There was another full-time young man working at the Emporium with him, and between the two of them, they were kept busy all day long. It was hard, physical work and Griff absorbed it with quiet joy. It was a far cry from his days as a banker on Wall Street. As he hefted another bale and carried it out of the barn, he glanced up at the blue morning sky. How could he ever have left Jackson Hole, the place he was born and raised? The Tetons Ranch had been in his family for a hundred years. His soul was here. How could he have not come home as soon as he’d turned eighteen?

The third bale was dropped into the pickup. Griff leaped down into the bed of the Chevy and expertly arranged the bales so he could make a solid foundation for the rest to come. Inhaling deeply, his white cowboy shirt clinging to his body, Griff smiled to himself. In one easy, fluid leap he was back on the platform. Grabbing the hooks with his sweat-stained leather gloves, he moved into the shade of the barn. His mind lingered on his past life, working in derivatives at his uncle’s Wall Street firm. When the crash hit, he’d been out of a job. Coming home had been a rough landing.

The air was full of fine dust and bits of the alfalfa that had been trucked in for ranchers in need for their horses or cattle. The growing season in this part of Wyoming was only seventy days and not long enough to grow a crop of either alfalfa or grass hay. It all had to be brought in from nearby Idaho or from other surrounding states. And it made the price higher than usual.

Griff’s nostrils flared as he sank the hooks into the next bale. In about twenty minutes, he’d have the order filled, the bales neatly stacked upon one another, tied in place with the rancher’s stout nylon straps so they wouldn’t fall off during transit. The work satisfied him. It was far better than sitting in a chair staring at a computer and translating graphs and analysis. He was born into a Wyoming ranch family. And God, it was good to be back home even if it meant living hand to mouth. If not for Andy hiring him to work five days a week, Griff knew he’d have to leave Jackson Hole for a soup kitchen in a major city.

“Hey,” Andy hollered to him from the office across the way, “when you get done, I need you in here, Griff. There’s a lady in here lookin’ to hire a full-time wrangler.”

Straightening, Griff pushed the tan Stetson cowboy hat off his brow. “Fifteen minutes,” he called back. He saw Andy nod, raise his hand in acknowledgment and disappear back inside the main store. Lifting the hat off his head, Griff quickly wiped his brow. He could smell his sweat. It came from good, hard work. He now realized he’d been wasting away in New York City. Out west, he was once again hard-muscled, physically fit and ready to take on his newly evolving world.

* * *

VAL WATCHED ANDY return to the front desk where she stood waiting. She had received a warm welcome from him when she’d first walked in the door. He’d recognized her right away. “Griff will be in here in about fifteen minutes,” he told her.

Val felt leery. “Are you sure he’s a good wrangler, Andy?”

“Yep, I am,” the man said, ringing up her items at a cash register.

“But, you said he’s only been here a couple of months.”

“I know you’ve been gone a long time, Miss Val, but surely you know Slade McPherson? Owner of the Tetons Ranch?”

“Yes, of course. Everyone thinks well of him.”

“Griff is Slade’s younger fraternal twin brother. Now, you recall that at six years old these two boys lost their parents?”

Scrunching her brow, Val tried to remember. “I was young at the time, Andy. Humor me?”

“That you were. And you’re still young and beautiful, Miss Val,” he said with a wink. “Slade and Griff’s parents were killed in an auto accident. Red Downing, who owned the ranch next to them, was drunk when he struck them. All three of them died in that tragic event. The two boys were split up. Slade stayed with a local uncle and Griff got shipped out to New York City to the other uncle who owned a financial services firm. Griff went on to get an MBA from Harvard and became a banker at his uncle’s company. That is, until the Wall Street crash. Griff came home hoping that his older brother would hire him, but he couldn’t.”

“I see,” Val said. “He’s a city slicker, then, Andy.”

“Ah, well…sort of…but he’s a darned hard worker, Miss Val. He isn’t lazy. He likes what he’s doing, and he’s good at it.”

Val found that hard to believe. “My mother was really poor at picking good wranglers. I don’t want to follow in her footsteps, Andy.”

Andy gave her a sad look. “Your mom was really hurting, Miss Val. I tried to tell her the men she was hiring were lazy and no good, but she didn’t listen.”

“Did she come in here to ask for a referral?”

With a heavy shake of his head, Andy said, “You know Buck hated me and my store. He was always bad-mouthing me. It’s no wonder your mom, after his death, didn’t come in here for my help. I would gladly have offered it.”

Reaching out, Val touched the man’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Andy. I really am.”

“Hey,” he said, brightening, “it’s not your fault. You’re not your father’s daughter, thank goodness. Give yourself credit—you came to me and asked for a good wrangler. Griff won’t let you down. Now, he’s green, that’s true, but he’s eager to learn and he makes things right.”

“I don’t know. When has a city slicker ever turned into a wrangler?”

Chuckling a little, Andy leaned his hands on the counter. “I know what you’re saying, Miss Val. But Griff is changing my mind about that old saying, too. I didn’t think he could reinvent himself. But he has.”

“Work is hard to find,” Val agreed. “I’m just worried that he has too high-powered a résumé to want to stick it out as a wrangler. As soon as this economy turns around, he’ll be gone. We really need someone long-term who will work with us to get the Bar H back on its feet.”

“I know,” Andy said in a soothing voice. “I hear you, Miss Val. I can’t stand here and say Griff won’t leave at some point. I really don’t know. What I do know is he’s been invaluable to us here at the Emporium. It’ll be a shame to lose him but I know he’ll do a great job for you. He’s a good mechanic, fixing engines and other ranch equipment, and that’s what you need.”

McPherson sounded like the right man, but her gut warned her against getting her hopes up. She looked toward the back door where Val knew he would be coming in any minute now. “Can you give me fifteen minutes to talk with him? To see if he’s really what we’re looking for, Andy?”

“Sure.” He pointed to the coffee station at the rear of the store. “You two help yourselves to coffee and then go out back to talk. You’ll have privacy out there.”

Val saw the door open. She wasn’t prepared for her reaction to the person who entered the shop.

Griff McPherson was tall, about six feet three inches, a hundred and eighty pounds of lean, cougar muscle. When he took off his tan Stetson hat, she got a good look at his face. His short black hair was plastered against his skull with sweat. His face was square with a broad brow, clean-looking nose and a stubborn-looking jaw. It was his startling spring-colored green eyes, large and filled with intelligence, that snagged her beating heart. He was ruggedly handsome, Val thought.

In fact, he could easily pose as a model for a marketing ad. She saw him remove his stained leather gloves and tuck them into the belt of his Levi’s. The dusty white shirt he wore clung to his upper body, outlining his broad shoulders and well-sprung chest. And when he lifted his head, his gaze settling on hers, Val quickly lowered her eyes. She felt shaky. And excited. And scared. What were all these crazy-quilt emotions about? Confused and taken off guard, she didn’t have time to process them.

“Miss Val, meet Griff McPherson,” Andy said, and gestured for the wrangler to come over and shake

her hand.

“Miss Val, nice to meet you.” Griff held his hat in his left hand and extended his right one toward Val Hunter as he took her in. She was beautiful. He searched his mind trying to remember her. Was she new to the area? Unsure, he managed a slight smile as she lifted her head and looked up at him. Val wasn’t short. In fact, she was only about four inches shy of his height. And she was fit, her body long and reminding him of a supple young tree. It was her dark blue eyes that looked like deep pools of water from a nearby lake, that grabbed at his heart. Instantly, Griff felt heat move through him as their hands met and clasped. Val’s face was oval, cheekbones high, eyes wide spaced and filled with intelligence. As his gaze dropped to her bow-shaped lips, he felt his entire lower body tighten with desire. Shocked at his response to her, he quickly released her hand.

“Andy said you were looking for a full-time wrangler?” he said.

Clearing her throat, her hand pleasantly tingling, Val said, “Yes, I’m here to interview candidates.” She didn’t want this eye candy of a cowboy to think this was a done deal.

“Of course,” Griff said.

“Andy invited us to get a cup of coffee and go outside to talk.” Val gestured toward the coffee station.

Griff gave his a boss a quick look. “My break time?”

“Yep,” Andy said with a grin.

Val couldn’t get her heart to settle down. The man walked a respectful distance behind her. She strained to pour the hot coffee into an awaiting paper cup without spilling it. Mouth dry, she felt tongue-tied in front of this iconic-looking cowboy. She had to repeatedly warn herself he was a city slicker in disguise.

“I’ll meet you outside.” Val hastily opened the door. She saw him nod as he reached to pour himself a cup of coffee.

On the back porch, Val took a long, calming breath. The wrangler had rattled her. Her reaction wasn’t something she’d expected. Val tried to steady her heart and breathing. How could a stranger take away her breath? She knew she’d been too long without a relationship. The last man she had been with, Dan Bradley, was a Marine major who had gone to Afghanistan and been killed two years ago. He’d stolen her heart, infused her dreams and she had been looking forward to marrying him once his tour was over. She had yet to fully recover from the loss. The next year, her mother had died. Most recently, she’d had to walk away from her career to save the Bar H. Pressing a hand to her chest, Val tried not to dwell on all the loss and sadness she carried within her. Funny enough, Griff made her forget all of the baggage and scars life had given her. It was an amazing and shocking moment. Val had no answer as to why he could have affected her so.

“Miss Val?” Griff murmured, meeting her out on the platform. He settled his hat on his head as he approached her. He noticed she looked distracted and nervous and he wondered why. Griff remained a respectful distance from the woman. He silently appreciated her rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes that spoke of such life in their depths. Why hadn’t he seen her around Jackson Hole? Was she a stranger to the area? Had she just bought a ranch? Griff’s curiosity was piqued.

“Yes, Mr. McPherson. My grandmother, Gus, would like me to find a wrangler who can help us around the Bar H ranch.” She gulped inwardly and looked up to meet his narrowing green gaze. He had such large, black pupils and it made him look incredibly handsome. His mouth…oh, sweet Lord, his mouth was sinfully shaped, the lips neither too thin nor too thick. The corners were curved slightly upward. She wondered if he had a good sense of humor.

“The Bar H? Isn’t that a two-hundred-acre spread south of Jackson Hole?”

“Yes, it is.” Val moved uneasily and barely tolerated his interested gaze. Why did McPherson have to be so blatantly masculine? “Gus broke her hip recently. She can’t do the work as she did before and we need help. Good help.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Griff sipped his coffee. He liked the way Val’s slightly curled red hair lay across her shoulders. She stood with her back straight, her chin at an angle. She was a proud woman. “I’ve heard of Gus. My brother, Slade, said there were several matriarchs in the valley. Iris Mason is one and I’ve met her. And he also mentioned Gus. I don’t suppose there would be another Gus?”

“No, just the one.” She liked his low, mellow voice. It was the kind of voice that could soothe a fractious horse. Or a nervous female like herself. “I had to come home to help her. And even I can’t do it all alone.”

He bit back his questions. Val was tense, her shoulders locked. Was he affecting her that way? Griff hoped not, because if it was him he could kiss this job goodbye. “I see. You don’t have any wranglers at the Bar H right now?”

“No.” Val grimaced. “My mother didn’t hire any good ones. They left the place a wreck, took her money and disappeared into the night.”

Ouch. Griff nodded and frowned. She was probably tense because she wanted to hire someone with better morals and values. He hoped Andy had spoken well of him because his dream job was to become a full-time wrangler on a ranch. Andy knew working here was temporary until some rancher could hire him. “Wranglers are the grist that make a ranch work.”

His modulated voice wafted through her like a feather gently settling upon her wildly beating heart. Val could tell Griff was sincere. “No question about that.” Val cleared her throat. “I need to know what your skills are, Mr. McPherson.”

“I’m a hard worker,” he said, opening his hand to show her the palm, “but I think my calluses will attest to that.” He smiled a little.

Val stared at his large, well-shaped hand. Indeed, there were thick calluses across his palm. What a beautiful hand. For a blinding instant, she wondered what it would be like to have those fingers graze her flesh. The thought was so startling, so out of the blue, that Val unexpectedly coughed. She stepped away from him, a hand pressed against her slender throat.

Griff allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Val Hunter looked absolutely confused. About him? Something was going on between them but he couldn’t ferret out exactly what it was. One thing Griff knew for sure: Val was very athletic. She wore a set of Levi’s that showed off her shapely hips and long, long legs. The pink blouse she wore had its long sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing that she was ready to work. He liked the way the breeze played with some of the strands of her copper-colored hair. The freckles across her cheeks and nose seemed darker for a moment. She looked like a young teen, although Griff suspected she was probably in her late twenties.

“I can mend fence, fix trucks and other farm equipment, do any odd jobs you need done,” he said after she seemed to have regained her composure.

“Have you done any cattle breeding? Vaccinating? Do you know the signs of a cow in distress?”

“No,” he admitted slowly, “but I’m willing to learn if you’re willing to show me.” He wanted to lie and say he did, but Griff wouldn’t do that. He had the integrity of a Westerner in his blood. He knew from his old job that young men and women would lie all the time about their skills and experience just to get a job. He wasn’t going to lie to Val. Griff saw her brows dip over his admittance.

“Do you even ride a horse?” she demanded. Val saw his mouth curve faintly.

“Yes, ma’am, I do ride.”

Looking down, Val studied his long, muscular legs. “Most wranglers I’ve met have bowed legs, from all the riding they do. You don’t.”

“I only got here a few months ago.” Griff realized this interview wasn’t going well. “I worked at my brother’s ranch. I did a lot of riding, moving cattle, roping and branding there.” He gave her a slight grin and pointed to his legs. “I haven’t had enough saddle time to bow them properly—yet.”

“Do you have your own horse?”

“No, I don’t. I rent a room at the MacMurray house on the west side of town and there’s no room there to own a dog or cat, much less a horse.”

“Andy said you just came from back east?”

The question was hurled like a gauntlet at him. Griff didn’t lose his slight smile. “New York City. Yes, I’m a city slicker, Miss Val.” He saw surprise in her expression. A faint blush fanned across her cheeks and her freckles momentarily darkened.

“Andy said you were a good worker.” She ignored his humor.

He glanced at the barn over his shoulder and hooked his thumb in the same direction. “I work six a.m. to three p.m. daily. I haul hay, feed and other items to the trucks.”

“And what do you do when you get off work?” It was a personal question, but Val’s curiosity got the better of her.

“I take odd jobs with any rancher that needs a little extra muscle or a mechanic.”

Val knew it spoke of his work ethic and she nodded. “Gus wants a man who can do it all, Mr. McPherson. She’s paying ten dollars an hour and we put in twelve-hour days. Not eight. Although you’ll get paid for eight.” Val thought for sure the poor pay would make him refuse the potential job on the spot.

“My brother works from dawn to dark. I would expect the same on any ranch.”

“There’s a lot of cleanup to be done. The property has been let go for years. The barn needs a new roof. The shed not only needs a roof, but new siding, as well. I have four wooden corrals and they all need post replacement. I’ve got piles of manure that need to be shoveled into a truck and then taken to the dump. The place is in ruins.” Val drilled him with a hard look, thinking that for sure he wouldn’t want to do those jobs, which were expected of a wrangler. She was betting his Eastern upbringing would make him walk away.

“I’ve already worked at taking out posts, digging new post holes and putting in both wood and pipe fences.”

“Most of the work we need is not done on a horse,” Val warned. She just didn’t think he could do it all. Yet, he looked easygoing and completely confident as she handed him the duty list.

Shrugging, he said, “That’s what I found to be true, too. Getting to throw a leg over a horse is a real gift compared to the everyday work on the ground.”

Frowning, Val sipped her coffee. She took a step back, making sure she didn’t get too close to this cowboy. He didn’t seem to be aware of his effect on her. She’d expected with his deadly good looks, he’d be arrogant. Instead, McPherson was quiet, thoughtful and seemed to listen. Those were all qualities Val knew many men did not have. “Well, whoever we hire,” she muttered, “they’re going to be busting their butt day in and day out.”

“That’s fine,” Griff answered. “I’m looking for a long-haul kind of job.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

Hearing the disbelief in her voice, Griff wondered if Andy had told her about his past life and career. “Yes, ma’am, I am.” He looked around and added, “I was born in Wyoming and love it here. I like waking up in the morning and seeing a clear blue sky, smelling fresh air instead of gas pollution and hearing the robins singing instead of sirens and car horns blaring.” Griff turned and met her lustrous blue gaze. “I’m sure Andy told you I grew up in New York City. The truth is, I hated it. I didn’t know it then, but I do now.” Gesturing toward the sky, he added, “I like the smell of the air after a rain. In the city, all you got was a dampening down of pollution. I spent a lot of time in Central Park, looking to reconnect with nature. I prefer grass under my feet to concrete.”

Mesmerized by the wistfulness in his voice, Val gulped. “That’s all fine and dandy, Mr. McPherson, but I don’t have time to teach you the skills you’re missing. We need a man who can do it all right now.”

“I understand,” Griff said, regret in his voice. “I admit I’m not fully qualified. But maybe if you let your grandmother know that I’m a fast learner and will make up for it, she might think about hiring me?”

“I’ll tell her,” Val promised.

“Great, let me give you my cell phone number. Could you let me know what her final decision is? I’d really like the job. It sounds like it’s difficult but I like a challenge.” Griff smiled a little and drew a business card out of his pocket. When their fingers met briefly, he felt a zigzag of heat move through his hand. He saw confusion and unsureness in Val’s eyes as she hesitantly took the card. She placed it in the back pocket of her Levi’s.

“We’ll let you know shortly.” She pulled the door open and disappeared into the Horse Emporium. Andy gave her a questioning look, as she approached the counter. Lifting her hand, she thanked Andy and left. As she climbed into the ranch’s red Ford pickup truck, Val felt all the tension flow out of her. She wondered if Gus would want this greenhorn wrangler or not. Val sure didn’t. He was powerfully male and it called to her dormant femininity in a way she’d never experienced. The truth, Val realized, was that she was drawn to McPherson. Woman to man. It was raw. Untamed. And it scared the hell out of her.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT DID YOU think of the wrangler?” Gus asked her granddaughter as they sat together in the kitchen. “You looked concerned when you came in.”

Val sipped her coffee as she eyed Gus. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Mouth turning down, Gus said, “I wish that were true. If it were, I’d have seen what Buck was doing to you and my daughter out here.”

Reaching over, Val touched her grandmother’s wrinkled, brown-spotted hand. “You lived clear across the state and my mother wasn’t telling you what was really going on here at the ranch.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should have been more nosey.”

“Well,” Val replied, “that’s over.”

“It is and it isn’t,” Gus pointed out. She studied Val and pursed her lips. “Beating an animal or human makes them scared.”

Laughing, Val said, “I’m hardly the scared type, Gus.”

“We’ll see….”

Val had no way to understand her grandmother’s enigmatic statement. “Well, Andy said this man, Griff McPherson, was a good wrangler and was looking for steady work.”

Her thin silver brows rising, Gus said, “McPherson? The Tetons Ranch folks?”

“Yes, one and the same. From what Andy said, his brother Slade owns and runs the family ranch now.”

“But, Griff is here in Jackson Hole? And not working for Slade?” Wrinkling her brow, Gus muttered, “That sure don’t make common sense. Families out here stick together like glue through thick and thin. I would expect him to be working with Slade. Not at the Horse Emporium.”

Shrugging, Val said, “Andy didn’t get into specifics.” She shared with Gus her talk with the wrangler. Val left out the fact he was mouthwateringly handsome. She didn’t want her grandmother to get the wrong idea.

“Okay, so he’s not a polished-off wrangler.” Gus rubbed her chin. “But it sounds like he wants to work. And that’s the kind of spirit we need around here. He can be taught whatever he’s missing.”

“Gus, we have ten-percent unemployment in the U.S. There are a lot of people out of work and looking for anything in order to survive. He’s just one of those poor people.”

Gus considered the information. “Let me guess, you don’t want to hire him because he’s an ex-city slicker.”

“Well…yes and no. But same as you, I wonder why he’s not working with his brother.”

“Slade just got married to Dr. Jordana Lawton,” Gus informed her. “I imagine the ranch belongs to both of them now.”

“You’d think that Slade would hire his brother part-time, though, if he could. Griff said he does odd jobs for other ranchers around the county on weekends.”

“Maybe there’s bad blood between them we don’t know about. From the sounds of it, I like his work ethic. This guy is busting his hump seven days a week to make ends meet. And you know ranchers won’t put up with a lazy wrangler. They get fired real fast.”

“All except here at the Bar H.” Val saw Gus quirk her thinned lips and nod her head.

“No disagreement there. Well, what should we do?”

“I want to pass on Griff McPherson,” Val said carefully. She wrapped her hands around the mug. “There’s just so much work around here for me to do that I don’t want to take the time out to teach him what he doesn’t know.”

Gus saw her point. “Before we make any decision, ask him to come out for coffee and cookies. I’ll interview him.”

Heart sinking, Val nodded. Her grandmother had the money, not the Bar H, which meant she could have the final say if she wanted it. “He’s a city slicker, Gus.”

“Yes, but his soul was born here.” She jabbed her finger down at the floor. “He’s got Wyoming blood movin’ through his veins. I’d like to scope him out myself if you don’t mind?”

“Sure,” she agreed, finishing off her coffee. There was a lot of work to get to and Val knew every day counted before the snow started falling in early September.

“Good,” Gus said. “You call the Horse Emporium. I’d like to see McPherson tomorrow afternoon if Andy will give him a couple hours off.”

“I’ll call Andy now,” Val promised, moving into the formal dining room to use the the landline phone set on a hundred-year-old walnut sideboard.

* * *

GRIFF TRIED NOT TO FEEL anxious, but he did. Getting out of his dented blue Ford pickup, he shut the creaky door and looked up at the main ranch house on the Bar H. The day was sunny and warm, the sky clear. He had been told by Andy yesterday that he was going out for a second job interview with Gus Hunter, one of the three matriarchs in the valley. He knew Iris Mason very well and loved the straight-shooting woman who owned Elk Horn Ranch. He’d never met Gus but had heard plenty about her. She was a pistol-packing granny and had a gruff personality from what Andy had told him.

Removing his red bandanna, Griff felt his nerves. He’d taken a cleansing shower, put on his best clothes, polished his well-worn boots and made sure his Stetson was free of hay or straw. His boots sounded hollowly as he climbed the reddish-gold cedar steps. Quickly wiping his face, he retied the red bandanna around his neck. The screen door was open. Would Val be present? Griff wasn’t sure. He knew she wasn’t too enthused about him working here. Andy said Gus was the boss of the Bar H and Griff wasn’t sure if that was good or bad news.

Standing at the screen door, Griff knocked. He could see a long, gleaming hall through the screen. Val appeared from a side room and walked toward him. Instantly, Griff’s heart pounded hard to underscore seeing her once more. Her shoulder-length red hair lay like a shining cloak around her shoulders. Today, she wore a mint-green short-sleeved blouse, Levi’s and cowboy boots. Stuffed in her belt was a ragged pair of leather gloves. Clearly, she had been out working earlier.

“Hello,” he murmured as she opened the screen door.

“Come in, Mr. McPherson. Gus is in the kitchen waiting to see you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Griff said, nodding deferentially to Val as he removed his hat.

Val caught the faint scent of lime soap as he passed by her. Today, he looked spruced up and much cleaner. Her heart beat a little more quickly as she closed the screen door and gestured for him to go down the hall.

“Turn right,” she called out to him.

Griff turned and found himself in a large kitchen. At the table sat a wiry woman with short silver hair, a cane leaning against the table next to her. He smiled and walked over to the table. “Mrs. Hunter?” he asked, holding out his hand toward her. “I’m Griff McPherson. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Call me Gus, young man,” she said, and gripped his hand firmly. Feeling the calluses, she said, “My granddaughter, Val, will bring us coffee.” She gestured to a cedar chair opposite her. “Have a seat. We can chat a spell.”

“Thank you,” Griff said in a respectful tone. Gus Hunter might be small, but she was like packed dynamite ready to go off. She, like Val, wore work clothes. The lavender blouse brought out the glint in Gus’s blue eyes. Her hair was like a curly silver crown around her head.

“I made you chocolate-chip cookies,” Gus said proudly, pointing to the large plate on the table.

Heartened, Griff smiled a little. “That was mighty kind of you, ma’am.”

Snorting, Gus said, “Don’t ma’am me! Call me Gus.”

“Yes…Miss Gus,” Griff murmured, trying to curb a smile over the elder’s spunky personality. Andy had warned him Gus took no prisoners.

Val brought over the coffee and set it in front of them.

“Sit down, Val,” Gus ordered, pointing to the chair next to the wrangler.

Val took a seat next to Griff. She could see her grandmother measuring and weighing the wrangler as he poured cream into his coffee. He was tall, muscular and relaxed.

“Take a couple of cookies, too,” Gus ordered him. She pushed the plate directly in front of Griff.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for one. “I don’t usually get home cooking and these look real good.” He bit into the cookie, filled with chocolate chips and walnuts. It melted in his mouth. Griff couldn’t speak but held up the remainder of the delicious dessert to Gus to show his appreciation.

Gus glowed. “Now, young man, this is an interview for a job as our wrangler here at the Bar H. You understand that?”

“Yes, ma—I mean, Miss Gus, I do.”

“Val told me you’re from back east.”

Griff swallowed the cookie, nodded and told her the story of how he’d wound up in New York City, as well as how he landed back in Jackson Hole.

“So, you were filthy rich and lost it all in the crash on Wall Street?” Gus surmised. She saw the sunburned wrangler’s brow dip.

“Yes, I lost everything.”

“And did your brother Slade call you and invite you back to your family ranch?”

Her questions were sharp and painful for Griff. “No, he didn’t call me. I wanted to come home because I had nowhere else to go. I thought I could stay with him and we could rebuild the Tetons Ranch together.”

“Well,” Gus said, brows knitting, “everyone in the valley knew Slade was a heartbeat away from losing his ranch. When the economy went south, he and a whole bunch of ranchers were walking the line on bank foreclosure. If it weren’t for Dr. Jordana Lawton and his horse, Thor, winning that ten grand at the endurance race, the bank would own that ranch by now.”

“I know. I helped them out during the endurance contest.” Griff finished off the cookie. Gus was firing off questions almost faster than he could answer them. Just as Andy had warned him she would….

“So how come you’re not working for your brother now?”

Moving uncomfortably, Griff said, “We got split up at six years old, Miss Gus. I was bad about staying in touch with him over the years, and I guess it took its toll. The fault was mine. I was living in a rich, wealthy city and frankly, I looked down on him and the ranch. Half the ranch is legally mine, but it was Slade whose hard work, sweat and blood kept it going. Not mine.”

“You’re honest to a fault, aren’t you?”

Griff gave her a twisted grin. “Is there any other way to be?”

“No, frankly, there isn’t. But the generations ahead think it’s okay to tell half-truths or no truth when it suits them. In my book a lie is a lie, pure and simple.”

Nodding, Griff said, “Some do, that’s true, but not all of them. I’m from the same generation you’re talking about.”

“Points scored,” she said, respect clear in her voice. She glanced over at Val, who looked worried. Gus couldn’t fathom why. So far, this gent was the real deal. “Okay, Mr. McPherson, you tell me why you think you’d be a good addition to the Bar H.”

Griff wondered if Val had shared with Gus his answer to a similar question she’d asked him. Devoting his attention to Gus, he replied, “It’s clear to me now that Wyoming is where I belong. I couldn’t help that Slade and I were split up at six and sent to different uncles to be raised. I’m grateful they were there for us. Coming home after the stock market crash, at first, I hated it. Then, every day, it seemed as though Wyoming was working a little more of her magic on me. It was scrubbing off all those city years and I was rediscovering what I really loved to do. Working with my hands gives me a satisfaction that no Wall Street job ever did. Mending a fence and making sure it’s stout and can withstand a bull makes me feel good.”

Gus saw some redness appear in the wrangler’s cheeks. He was struggling to put his feelings into words. She studied his hands. “You got work hands,” she confirmed. Holding up her own, she added, “Hands to thrust into the rich soil of Wyoming. To help things grow. There’s a feeling that comes with being one with the land. And if you weren’t born here, you couldn’t understand.”

“Right.” Griff studied the old woman’s long, thin hands. Her knuckles were slightly enlarged due to arthritis. He saw the calluses across her palms. Her nails were short and jagged. Despite her cane, it was clear nothing could stop her from working on the ranch. He liked the sturdy, straight-talking elder. Griff wondered if his mother had lived, would she have turned out to be like Gus? He wanted to think so because the elder had a backbone of steel.

“I was missing something out in New York. I had the best of everything. My aunt and uncle loved me fiercely and I loved them. In my heart—” and Griff touched his chest “—I felt an emptiness and I never understood it until I arrived back here. When I worked with Slade at the Tetons Ranch, the ache started to go away. Later, I realized I was starving for my roots. My real home.” He became serious, his voice low. “I want a job as a wrangler because I feel I can contribute. My heart is in my work, Miss Gus. It’s true, I don’t know everything about wrangling, but I’m hungry to learn.”

Nodding, Gus shot a look across the table toward Val. She looked vulnerable, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. Gus knew she hadn’t been yearning to come home the way Griff was describing. Pinching her lips, Gus swung her gaze back to Griff. “Young man, I like where you come from. It’s true, you aren’t a fully realized wrangler yet, but I feel over time it will happen. Now, I can’t give you much money. Ten dollars an hour for eight hours a day. And you know you’ll be workin’ twelve hours a day, from dawn to dusk.”

“That’s more than fair,” Griff answered, grateful. “I’ll prove my worth to you.”

“I expect that. Now we got a problem. The wrangler’s bunkhouse was destroyed by a fire. One of the wranglers my daughter hired burned it down smoking in there one night. I ain’t hirin’ anyone who smokes. Too darned dangerous. Anyway, I hope to get that bunkhouse rebuilt next summer and you can move into it then. Meantime, we’ve got no bunkhouse for you. But, if you’re okay with it, I have another bedroom upstairs with its own bathroom and shower. It’s yours if you want it. I won’t charge you rent.”

Surprised, Griff looked over at Val. She looked displeased but refused to meet his gaze. Gus, on the other hand, looked like an excited child. He smiled a little hesitantly and said, “That’s very decent of you, Miss Gus. I’ll try not to get underfoot. And I’ve never smoked.”

“I do the cookin’ around here,” Gus warned. “And I’m a darned good cook, too. But I do expect you to wash and dry dishes every other night. And you’ll do vacuuming and dusting once a week in this house. You got a problem with that?”

Grinning, Griff said, “Miss Gus, if those cookies are any indication of your cooking ability, then I’m in hog heaven. And I don’t mind cleaning up after myself or doing housework. It’s all the same to me. Just tell me what you want, when you want it, and I’ll be happy to do it.”

Giving him a keen look, Gus asked, “You got any plans to leave Wyoming anytime soon, young man? Once this economy staggers back to its feet, are you going to leave and go make your millions again on Wall Street?”

“No, ma—I mean, no, Miss Gus, I won’t.” Griff looked around the warm, beautiful cedar kitchen. The cabinets shined red and gold in the afternoon sun that poured in through the large windows. “I’m home for good. I don’t want to go back to Wall Street.”

Gus slapped the table. “Okay. Good!

“You can move your gear in. Val will get the room ready for you. Tomorrow morning, you start your new job with the Bar H, Mr. McPherson.”

Joy skittered through Griff. The old woman’s blue eyes glinted with elfin exuberance. He was elated over the job opportunity. Finally, someone was going to give him a chance! “Thank you, Miss Gus. I will do everything in my power to never disappoint you.”

Shaking his hand firmly, Gus grinned. “Sounds good to me. Val will be your everyday boss. We’ve written up a very long list of things that need to be done around here. She’ll go over that with you this evening after dinner. “You like pot roast with potatoes, onions, carrots and gravy?”

Griff got up and carefully pushed his chair back into place. “Miss Gus, that sounds wonderful. I don’t want to tell you what I tend to fix for myself if I’m left to my own devices.”

“Just don’t go gettin’ fat on me,” Gus warned, grinning.

Touching his hard, flat stomach, Griff said, “Oh, with all the work to be done around here, I don’t think that will happen. I have a feeling I’ll be putting in dawn to dusk days around here.”

Val got up to show him to the door. “Those are the hours we’ll both work.” She tried to remain immune to the happiness dancing in his green eyes. He held the Stetson in his left hand as he followed her out of the kitchen.

As they stepped onto the porch, Val gazed around the broken ranch. Everywhere she looked, there was fence line begging to be fixed. She watched Griff settle the Stetson on his head and hoped his proud stance would work out for them and their ranch. Lowering her voice, she said, “I hope you meant every word you shared with my grandmother in there, Mr. McPherson. What she didn’t tell you is that if you don’t do the work and do it right, I’ll fire you myself.”

Griff stared over at Val’s set face. She was deadly serious. “I’ll make every effort to prove my worth to you and your grandmother every day.”

His deep voice moved through her like music. Val fought to ignore it. Why did Griff have to be this easy on her eyes? It would be so much easier to dislike him if he was unattractive. “Better get going, Mr. McPherson. Gus sets the table at six o’clock sharp. She hates when people are late.”

Grinning a little, Griff said, “Fair enough. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Standing on the porch, Val watched the tall wrangler walk down the slight slope to his beat-up Ford truck. It was painfully obvious that McPherson didn’t own a dime. Her heart finally settled down after he drove away. Turning, she looked toward the dirt road that led to Long Lake. It was half a mile away. The green of the surrounding mountains made her feel suddenly hopeful. Maybe she was wrong and Gus was right about this city slicker. Time would tell….

* * *

THE SUN SHONE ACROSS the mountains as Griff drove back toward Jackson Hole. The evergreens were dark and lush. He had rolled down his window, his arm resting on the door frame. Few people used air-conditioning in Wyoming. And his truck’s compressor had died long ago. The fresh air filled his lungs and it felt good to be alive.

He had a job! His heart swelled with hope. The past few months had been hard. Griff was barely able to pay his room rent and grocery bills. Now he was going to live with a feisty grandmother who probably cooked like an angel—he had a real ranch job and a roof over his head.

His mind and, if he were honest, his heart, turned gently back to Val Hunter. She was a beautiful, accomplished woman. She wasn’t happy that her grandmother had hired him, but Gus was in charge, that was clear. He looked forward to seeing that list of to-dos tonight after dinner. Hands on the steering wheel, Griff felt something flow through him like the river that paralleled the highway. Happiness. He was actually happy for the first time since returning to Wyoming!

At first, after the crash and losing his job, Griff had felt hopeless. Coming home was his only option. He’d thought Slade would welcome him with open arms, but he hadn’t. His sibling had worked hard all his life to keep the family ranch from going under. And Slade had lost all respect for him because he was a city slicker.

Was Val seeing him through similar eyes? His gut told him that she was. Mouth tightening, Griff slowed the truck as he entered the outskirts of Jackson Hole. It was a busy town during the summer months. Millions flocked here on their way to Yellowstone National Park, which lay fifty miles north of the cow town. A few tourists stopped first at the closer, magnificent Grand Teton National Park. It was his favorite place and Griff enjoyed hiking when he got the chance. Now he’d have no time for such activities.

As he continued into town, Griff’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and saw it was Josh Gordon. Grimacing, Griff answered the FBI agent’s call. “Hello, Josh.”

“I’m checking in to see if you’ve gotten anything on Curt Downing yet.”

Griff pulled off the road and put the truck in Park. “No, I haven’t.”

“I thought you might get something on him at the Horse Emporium. You said he picks up his feed supplies there.”

“Yes, he does, but I haven’t seen him. He sends a kid who works for him, Zach Mason, to fetch the supplies.”

“Look, we need your full attention on this. I know we’re not able to pay you anything for your help, but if we could prove Downing and his trucking company are moving drugs or guns, it would be of great help to our ongoing regional investigation. You know I can’t get authorization to send an undercover FBI agent there until I can prove that there’s good reason to do it.”

“I understand,” Griff said, his frustration bubbling up at the situation he was in.

The FBI had first approached him shortly after the Wall Street crash. They’d needed someone on the inside to help them understand the derivatives schemes. Griff felt guilty that he’d contributed to the economy’s downfall, and had agreed to help them. When that assignment was over, the FBI had called him into their office in Washington, D.C. They knew he was going back home to Wyoming, and Josh had asked if he’d be a mole for them on Curt Downing. And, of course, they couldn’t pay him a dime for his help. All the same, Griff readily agreed to the task because it was Downing’s father who had killed his parents.

“You said you hear all kinds of gossip at the hay and feed store. Haven’t you gleaned anything there?”

“Josh, I can’t force information out of people. If I go around asking a bunch of questions, I’ll blow my cover. And that’s not what you want. I have to be patient and cultivate relationships over time. Wyoming people tend to distrust outsiders for a long time until they can prove themselves. I’m still trying to fit in.” And then he told the FBI agent about being hired to work at the Bar H.

“But that takes you out of the Horse Emporium.”

“Yes, it does. But I need to pay my bills, somehow. And I’ll be in town several times a week running errands. Gus gets her hay and feed at the Horse Emporium, too.”

“Damn, Griff, this is a real setback.”

Raising his brows, Griff said nothing for a moment. Did Josh expect money to fall from the heavens? The agent was being ridiculous. “I know I’m out of the mainstream because of my new job, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

“All right, good. Because I’m positive Downing is behind the movement of drugs through Wyoming. We have agents in Idaho, Montana and Colorado, and they’re picking up noise on the main hub that the drug dealer is located in Wyoming. It has to be Downing. We just can’t prove it yet. We also suspect a Guatemalan drug cartel called Los Lobos is moving into your area. They’re gunrunning from what we’ve been able to ascertain.”

“Is Downing mixed up in both?”

“Not that we know of,” Josh said. “Not yet, anyway. Guns and drugs don’t usually mix. But I want you to see if you hear anything on either of them.”

The exasperation was evident in the agent’s voice. “Well, if that’s so, then shouldn’t these two separate reasons be enough to bring an undercover ATF and FBI agent in here to get the goods on Downing? Or the Los Lobos cartel?”

“You don’t understand, Griff. Everyone’s budget has been slashed. My boss is turning down all kinds of requests from his field agents. Until we can get proof of some kind, my hands are tied.”

“I’ll do what I can, Josh, but I have to eat and pay my bills first.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand. Okay, stay in touch.”

Griff hung up and made his way to the MacMurray house, a turn-of-the-century home painted a turquoise-blue. It was a haven for people like him. He could rent a room, have a small hot plate and a bed. Apartments in Jackson Hole were way out of his reach, as they were for most people who worked in the town. Even the sheriff’s deputies had to live in Star Valley fifty miles south of Jackson Hole because they couldn’t afford the high-priced housing in the “Palm Springs of the Rockies.” And the ranchers, only a small handful of whom were rich, continued to lead hardscrabble lives.

Getting out of his truck and remembering what good today had brought, his tension from the phone call dissipated. He’d pack up his room here, pay his last rent and drive back to the Bar H. A real home. Griff liked the idea of staying in the main ranch house. The kitchen reminded him of the Tetons Ranch kitchen. It was almost like being home. Not quite, but close.

Feeling like crowing to the world, Griff quickly made his way up the carpeted stairs.

In his room, he threw two pieces of luggage from the closet onto the bed. He was a champion pistol shot and all his weapons were in a special wooden case, under lock and key. His uncle had recognized his interest in shooting. Griff had risen quickly in the world of pistol shooting in his twenties. As he placed it next to the door and began to pack his clothes, his heart centered back on Val. The coverlet of freckles across her high cheeks. Her blue eyes the color of the deep Wyoming sky. As he packed, he couldn’t put his finger on why she appeared to feel so sad. Was it that she was unhappy Miss Gus had hired him? Or was it something else?

Griff made quick work of packing. Hefting both pieces of luggage and his weapons case to the downstairs door, he went in search of the owner so he could pay her. Getting free room and board at the Bar H was a huge leap in resolving Griff’s money problems.

What lay ahead for him? Above all, Griff didn’t want to disappoint or anger Miss Gus. She was clearly on his side. Val was another situation, however. Griff knew she’d be watching him critically for any mistake he made. And he knew that if he couldn’t do the work, she’d get him fired in an instant.

Losing this job was the last thing Griff wanted. Somehow, he had to understand Val and make her a team player and not his enemy. Even if she disliked his New York roots, Griff knew that his hard work and attention to detail would prove to her once and for all he was the right person to be hired. Above all, he had to make sure no one ever found out he was eyes and ears for the FBI. Not only would it turn the people of Jackson Hole against him, he’d been sworn to total secrecy. And you didn’t mess with the bureau. If he was going to find the goods on Downing, the FBI felt he was the perfect foil. After all, he had been born here and was now returning home. A lot of children came back to their parents’ nest these days. Downing would never suspect him. Nor would anyone else. And if Griff had any hope of keeping his dream of life as a wrangler alive, he had to keep his secret safe.

CHAPTER FOUR

SITTING DOWN TO a home-cooked dinner felt like going to a five-star restaurant to Griff. He’d come down from his room at the Bar H promptly at six, as Gus had ordered. Inhaling, he could smell apples and cinnamon in the air. The rectangular cedar table had six chairs, one of them placed at the head of it. Gus and Val were bringing the steaming plates of food to the table. Griff had had enough time to take a shower and throw on some clean clothes. He stood uncertainly at the opening to the kitchen.

“Would you ladies like some help?”

Gus poured applesauce from a pan into a bright green ceramic bowl. “No, you go ahead and sit down. Take that chair to the left of the one at the end of the table.”

“Yes, Miss Gus.” Griff couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Val looked. She’d put her thick red hair into a ponytail and tied it up with a bright green ribbon. She wore a faded apron of green and white checks across her slender waist, which reminded him more of the 1950s than present day. In fact, everything about the home shouted of that earlier era. Somehow, it was comforting to Griff.

As he sat at the table, Val brought over a bowl of mashed potatoes with a huge chunk of butter in the center. It was melting quickly, creating yellow rivers flowing down the mound of hand-whipped potatoes.

Gus hobbled over on her cane. “Now, young man, I hope you have an appreciation for organic, home-cooked food. These are apples off our trees out back. I have a root cellar and I store the potatoes, yams and apples down where it’s dark and cool. That way, they last a long time without rotting.”

Griff took the bowl of applesauce from her. “I have vague memories of doing something similar at our ranch when I was kid.”

“Good, then you’re not a complete loss.”

Chuckling, Griff saw the old woman crack a grin.

He watched as Val brought over a huge platter that contained the beef roast.

“Will you slice it up?” she asked, setting it down in front of him. She walked to the counter, grabbed a carving knife and fork, and brought them over to Griff. As Val handed him the utensils, she tried to ignore his looks. His hands were rough with many small, white scars across the backs of them. He was darkly tanned, which spoke of the time he spent outside. Why did he have to look like dessert to her?

“I’m not the world’s best at this,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I like,” Gus praised, setting down a bowl of streaming carrots that had been drizzled with butter and wildflower honey.

Griff quickly stood and pulled out the elder’s chair for her.

“At least some of your Western protocols are still workin’, Mr. McPherson,” she teased, slowly sitting down. Hooking the cane over the edge of the table, Gus added, “Thank you.”

Val carried the gravy boat over to the table. Griff walked around the table and pulled out her chair. She gave him a pained look, set the gravy down in the center of the table and sat down.

Griff sliced into the thick, well-done roast beef. “Everything smells so good.”

Val smiled a little. Once he’d sliced the beef, she took Gus’s plate and added a dollop of mashed potatoes to it. “Home-cooked food is the best.” Avoiding Griff’s gaze, she smiled over at her grandmother.

“Better than military food,” Gus grumped, taking the plate. She set it down and reached for the gravy ladle. “I know you said you loved the Air Force, but I’ll bet the chow-hall food paled in comparison.”

Griff looked across the table at Val, raising his eyebrows. She wore a pale green blouse that showed off her slender figure. “You were in the Air Force?”

Unwilling to say much, Val filled her plate. “Yes, I was.” She didn’t feel comfortable confiding her life to a wrangler. He felt like an outsider in her kitchen, even though she knew McPherson wasn’t to blame. She hadn’t been home long enough to come to terms with her fate, much less deal with an attractive stranger now living among them.

Gazing at Val with newfound respect, Griff put a couple of slices of steaming beef on his plate along with heaps of mashed potatoes. He found he was starving, but it was as much for the company as the food. “How long were you in the Air Force?”

Val was hesitant. “I enlisted after college.”

“What did you do?” Griff saw the blanket of freckles across her cheeks darken. Was he being too nosy?

Gus chuckled as she ate the carrots with relish. “Val won’t say a peep. Not that it’s a secret. She held a top-secret clearance and was an intelligence officer. She also did fieldwork, finding drug runners. Talk about an exciting life.”

Griff couldn’t help his surprise as he heard that Val had expertise in exactly the area the FBI had enlisted his help for. But somehow, he was glad she wasn’t in such dangerous work anymore.

“Gus…” Val begged. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I understand, honey.” Gus patted her granddaughter’s hand. She turned her focus on Griff. “What about you, Mr. McPherson? Do you miss Wall Street?”

Griff shrugged. “I’m finding I’m missing it a lot less than I thought I would.”

“Did you really want to come back here?” Gus asked before she spooned some mashed potatoes with gravy into her mouth.

“At first, no. I was in shock, I guess. I thought with my credentials and knowledge, I could easily land another investment job. But that was fool’s gold. When I was running out of money and options, I did what a lot of other people did—I went crawling home.”

“Home isn’t such a bad place.” Gus gave Val a warm look. “I’m very glad to have Val home. But like you, she’s still getting used to it.”

Griff curbed his tongue. He had a hundred questions for Val, but the look on her closed face warned him not to ask them. Her mouth was usually full and shapely. Now, it was thinned with displeasure. “We owe thanks to our troops, no matter what service they’re in,” he said. “You all put your lives on the line for the rest of us.”

Heat nettled Val’s skin. She could feel the warmth creeping up from her neck and flow across her face. She hated blushing, but that’s exactly what she was doing. When she glanced up and saw the sincerity banked in Griff’s green eyes, she nearly choked on a carrot. Coughing, she quickly took a sip of water. Wiping her mouth with the white linen napkin, she managed, “Don’t paint a bigger picture of me than you have already.”

Stung by her gruff response, Griff wondered inwardly how he was going to get along with this woman. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gus shake her head. For a bit, the clink of silverware against the bright yellow plates was the only sound in the kitchen.

“Before you two go over the to-do list,” Gus finally said, “I made us a special dessert for tonight. Apple pie.”

Val couldn’t help but smile over at her grandmother. “Thank goodness for your cooking. Otherwise, we’d both probably starve,” and she managed a sour smile in Griff’s direction. She saw him respond immediately. There was a sense of abandonment around this man. And she could feel him trying to fit into the awkward situation they were all caught up in at the moment. She felt sorry for him. Val tried to put herself in Griff’s place: suddenly losing his job and all his money. Plus, he had no place to go. Val decided it would be hard. She finished off her carrots and mashed potatoes.

“My pies are famous in these parts,” Gus confided to Griff. “Have you ever tried apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese melted on it?”

“No, Miss Gus, I haven’t. But I’m willing to try it.” Griff quickly finished off his food. He was like a starving mongrel who’d come upon an unexpected bounty.

“I have a hunch,” Val said in a droll voice, “that you’d eat anything if it was home cooked.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Guilty on all counts.”

Chuckling, Gus said, “You aren’t like most gents I’ve met in my lifetime, Mr. McPherson. Seems you don’t ride a horse named Pride. Although you’re certainly a confident young man.”

Griff warmed to the elder. “My uncle and aunt made sure any pride I had was ironed out of me a long time ago.

“They instilled morals, values and a hard work ethic in me. They opened up their lives to me after our parents died.” His voice lowered with feeling. “And I’ll always be grateful to them for that.”

“They alive?” Gus wondered aloud.

Shaking his head, Griff said, “My aunt died two years ago of a heart attack. No one suspected it. She had complained about a week earlier about pain under her jaw, but we all thought it was a toothache. My uncle begged her to go to the dentist. She booked the appointment, but never made it. My uncle came home that evening and found her dead on the couch.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Gus gave him a sympathetic look. “What about your uncle?”

Griff smiled faintly and smoothed the linen napkin across his lap. “He died of heartbreak, Miss Gus. He loved my aunt in a way I’ve seen few people love another person. They were very happy together. And she was his world. He died three months after her, of an undetected brain aneurysm.”

Val felt her heart open as she saw sadness in Griff’s face. He’d lost his parents and then his guardians, and she felt deeply for him. “Your aunt and uncle sound like they were wonderful people.”

Griff saw tears glistening in Val’s eyes and was stunned by her response. In that moment, her guard was down. And his heart ached to explore her in every possible way. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Griff managed in a pained tone, “They were my world. They didn’t have to take in a grieving six year old, but they did.”

Gus blotted her lips with her napkin. “They might have lived in New York City, but they had solid Wyoming values. You can’t take the country out of a person no matter where he or she lives. And they instilled those principles into you.” She looked Griff up and down. His hair was short, recently washed and combed. Gus doubted he went anywhere without a red bandanna around his throat. His white cotton cowboy shirt with pearl buttons was pressed to perfection and clean. “I feel you’ll blossom here over time. You’re kinda like a tulip bulb—all covered with city-slicker soil. But once you shake off that city dirt, you’ll rediscover your roots here.”

Griff felt a deep warmth toward the women. They cared and it showed in their faces. “I’m already starting to bloom. I like waking up in the morning to clean, fresh air. And instead of skyscrapers outside my window, I have the Teton mountains.”

Rubbing her hands, Gus cackled. “And it don’t get any better than that!”

Val got up to clear the dishes, and instantly Griff was on his feet to help her.

Gus smiled. “That’s what I like, a man who knows his way around a kitchen.” She wagged her finger in Griff’s face. “Remember, I cook, you wash dishes.”

“It’s a great trade-off.” Griff filled his hands with plates. Val was collecting all the bowls from the table and setting them on the counter. For the next five minutes, Griff felt dizzy and as if in a dream. A slice of memory from his childhood flowed into his mind, stunning him, filling him with love and appreciation. He recalled his mother showing him how to clear a table after the family was finished with dinner. He’d been short and clumsy and had dropped a cup on the floor. Slade had chided him, but Griff remembered his mom leaning over to hug him and tell him not to worry. Carrying dishes simultaneously was all about balance and she was proud of him for learning.

His heart contracted with grief as he carefully placed the plates into the sink to rinse them off before transferring them to the dishwasher. The kitchen was warm, the fragrance of food a perfume for his lonely soul. The clink of dishes and silverware was pleasant music from the past. Griff wished he could confide in the women just how much this moment meant to him. They may have taken it for granted, but he never would. Dinner with family was something he’d pined for and rarely gotten when he’d come home to the Tetons Ranch. Slade had not wanted him around. He was angry with Griff for things that had transpired in the past, and saw him as a threat to his control over the ranch even though half of it was legally his. Griff understood his older fraternal twin’s reaction. Slade had put his whole life into keeping the family ranch solvent, and he’d nearly lost it. If not for Jordana Lawton, his new wife, winning the ten thousand dollars in the endurance race, Slade would have no ranch. Now, they were married and things were slowly improving. Griff felt an undeniable relief to know the Tetons Ranch would not only survive but, someday, thrive. And he’d been here to see it.

“Time for apple pie and cheese!” Gus crowed from her chair. “Val, you want to do the honors?”

Smiling, Val murmured, “Absolutely.” She put on a set of oven mittens, opened the oven door and pulled out a warm apple pie. Griff was standing at the sink, looking to help. “You can take three bowls down from that cabinet to the right of the sink.”

An incredibly warm feeling swept through Griff as he took out three red ceramic bowls from the cabinet. It felt so good to be part of a household again. Setting the bowls on the counter, he watched Val retrieve the cheddar cheese from the fridge. Her hands were beautiful, fingers long and movements fluid. Watching as she cut the pie and placed thick wedges into the awaiting bowls, Griff sliced the cheese.

He was a bit awkward with the knife.

“Cheese alert, ladies,” he said. “These slices aren’t going to be exactly even.”

Picking two bowls up, Val accidentally brushed against his arm and tried to ignore his blatant masculinity. Griff was lean like a mountain lion. She controlled her voice as she responded. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Where this dessert is going, it won’t matter.”

Chortling, Gus called, “The stomach don’t care at all, Mr. McPherson. It’s just going to sing with pleasure at getting filled, is all.”

“You’re right about that.” Griff wrapped up the cheese and put it back into the fridge. Val took the bowls to the table and her eager grandmother. The pie smelled marvelous and Griff quickly moved to pull out Val’s chair so she could sit down. Again, she said nothing. What did he expect? After all, he was a stranger who had suddenly fallen into her life.

Sitting down, he confided to Gus, “You really know how to make someone feel welcome. Thank you.”

Grinning a little, Gus cut eagerly into her pie. “It’s a Wyoming custom to welcome those who come through our door and to treat them like family.”

Griff remembered that from so long ago. As he cut into the warm pie with cheddar cheese melting across its browned crust, more memories arose from his childhood. When Griff was five his aunt and uncle had come out from New York to Jackson Hole for a weeklong visit. It was something they did every year. He and his brother always looked forward to their arrival because they brought them gifts of toys. Their parents were dirt-poor and even though they never made the boys feel their economic status, the boys certainly never had much. But they were always extremely hospitable to any guests.

“Did your real mom cook and bake?” Gus asked.

“Yes, Miss Gus, she did,” he said, savoring the warm tartness of the apples and cinnamon along with the tangy sharp cheddar melting in his mouth. “My dad worked the ranch and she sewed our clothes, did the washing and kept us and the ranch house together.”

Val heard the far-off dreaminess in Griff’s lowered voice, and found herself hungry to know more about him. He seemed attuned to helping out women in the kitchen, which surprised her. Looking up, she asked, “Did your mom make you boys work in the house? Dry dishes? Clean up the table up after dinner?”

“Yep, she did,” Griff fondly recalled. “My brother and I were like wriggling puppies growing up. Mom harnessed all that energy. We learned to dry dishes standing on top of a stool at the kitchen sink as she washed them and handed them to us. Slade hated dish duty, but he liked dusting and sweeping. So we made an agreement to each do the chores we preferred.”

“Did she teach you to cook?” Gus demanded.

“No, but I wish she had. Slade liked to cook, so he was always in there watching Mom. Sometimes, she’d let Slade make chocolate-chip cookies.”

Val saw the gleam in his green eyes as he spoke. There was happiness lurking in the depths of them. And for whatever reason, it made Val feel good. To her utter surprise, an ache centered in her lower body. She couldn’t help but stare at his strong mouth. Griff smiled often. He reacted to their questions and took them seriously. Part of her was relieved to realize Griff wasn’t one of those proud cowboys. They were such a pain in the butt to deal with.

“I preferred being outside helping our father,” he continued. “Slade was always mesmerized by recipes and mixing ingredients together to create new things. Mom swore he’d grow up to be a chemist.” He chuckled fondly over those memories.

“What did you do?”

“I liked riding, Miss Gus. Our father gave us each a mustang gelding when we were three years old. I rode my horse as much as I could.”

“That’s good.” Gus spooned into her dish. “Because you’re going to get a lot of saddle time around here. We have one real nice quarter horse and an Appaloosa left. I’m sure Val will assign you one of ’em tomorrow.”

“I will,” Val promised. Their black Appaloosa, Freckles, had a white blanket with black spots over its rump. Griff would be well matched with the gelding, as it stood sixteen hands tall.

“I think you’re gonna be good for the Bar H, Mr. McPherson,” Gus said.

“Could you call me Griff?” He knew ranchers were always respectful and would call a person by their surname, unless otherwise asked.

“Why sure I can.” Gus smiled. “Griff’s a good, strong name. Why’d your parents decide to call you that?”

“My dad got to name the firstborn, Slade, but the agreement was my mom would get to name the second twin. She loved King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She was really into dragons and griffins in literature, so she called me Griff.”

“Griffins were often found on the shields of royalty,” Gus noted with pride. “They had the body of a lion, the head and wings of an eagle. In mythology, they were considered heroic, courageous, and represented strength.”

Smiling faintly, Griff was impressed with her knowledge of the ancient symbolic animal. “My mother shared many stories about griffins with me. She said that they would find gold in the mountains and make their nest out of the metal. I remember she told me that I’d grow up and be very rich someday.” His heart filled with pain. “And she was right about that. When I worked at my uncle’s company, I was worth millions. I wish she’d lived to see that.”

Val frowned and said nothing. Seeing the anguish in his eyes, she felt badly for Griff. No one should have their parents torn away from them.

Gus sighed. “I can’t even begin to know how it would feel to lose millions.”

“I stupidly tied everything up in derivatives. My uncle was always chiding me to put a chunk of it into the blue-chip stocks, instead. I didn’t listen.” Griff shrugged. “If I had, I wouldn’t be flat broke as I am today.”

Val absorbed the pain and the frustration embedded in his deep voice. When she glanced up, Griff was frowning down at the half-eaten dessert in front of him. She could see he was thinking about the past, about the horrendous mistakes he’d made. But didn’t everyone make mistakes? Oh, yes. Everyone made plenty. But to lose millions? Val couldn’t fathom that. She cleared her throat. “Maybe this is your chance to rebuild your life back here in Wyoming.”

Griff caught and held her blue gaze. For once, the walls that kept him from reading Val’s face weren’t up. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m hoping I can find the fabled gold of the griffin here, where I was born.”

Chuckling indulgently, Gus said, “Oh, I think you have what it takes to be successful, Griff. Now, your focus is different. I don’t know too many wranglers who get rich, but over time, you can build a nice nest egg.”

“That’s my plan.” Finishing off the dessert, Griff sat back and rubbed his belly. “That was really good pie. Thanks, Miss Gus. It’s almost like I’m home again...”

“Well, get used it, Griff.”

Val rose. “Will you help me clear the table, Mr. McPherson?”

Inwardly, Griff’s heart sank. He’d wanted Val to call him by his first name, too. The set look on her face and her tight jaw told him she was going to continue to keep him at arm’s length, though. “Of course.” He scooted the chair away from the table. “It’s the least I can do for such a great five-star meal.” When he aimed a smile over at Gus, she blushed like a teenager. Griff wanted to reach out and carefully hug the elder.

“Griff, you’re a delight,” Gus crowed. “I’m happy to see you here with us.”

As Griff thanked her and carried the empty bowls over to the sink, he wondered if Val felt the same way.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DAMMIT, ZACH, WORK faster!” Curt Downing’s fine, thin nostrils flared as he stood on the wooden dock at the Horse Emporium. The twenty-year-old kid, still gawky and pathetically thin, wrestled with an eighty-pound bale of hay. The bale was winning. There was no use trying to make a cowboy out of this kid. Placing his hands on his hips as he watched his three wranglers working efficiently to transfer a hundred bales on the waiting flatbed, Curt fumed. If he didn’t need Zach Mason, the grandson of Iris Mason, owner of the Elk Horn Ranch, he’d have fired his ass a long time ago. But the kid was useful to him in other ways.

With the two hooks, Zach hurled the bale onto the flatbed where another wrangler stood impatiently waiting for it. Releasing his heavy load, he saw Downing glare at him. Zach wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He hated what he was doing. Shuffling back inside the huge two-story barn to get another bale, he wished he was in his rented room in town, smoking a joint. Marijuana soothed and calmed him. His heart still ached, missing his mother, Allison. She was in a federal prison, serving out a twenty-five-year term for trying to kill Iris Mason, his grandmother, and Kam Trayhern. Kam, his stepfather Rudd’s illegitimate daughter, had come home to claim her inheritance. Allison had seen her, as well as Iris with whom Kam was bonding, as a threat and tried to have them murdered to save the inheritance for her own kids: himself and his sister Regan. He still blamed all of them for his mother being torn from him.

Stopping at a table, Zach grabbed a bottle of water, opened it and slugged down its tepid contents. His large Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly. Tossing the empty container into a barrel next to the table, he pulled off his baseball cap and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. The prickly alfalfa hay nettled his sensitive skin, turning it a splotchy red.

Zach knew he wasn’t cut out for ranch life, even though his stepfather and grandmother owned the largest and most prosperous ranch in the valley. But he wasn’t from their bloodline. His mother had been a Hollywood star. And his sister, Regan, who lived a block away from him in town, took after Allison. He tried to forget his promiscuous mother had had sex with an A-list Hollywood director. That was his real father. But Zacharius Blanchard refused to accept his illegitimate son. He refused to even talk to Zach. That hurt. Why did his Hollywood star mother have to screw with so many different men? His older sister, Regan, had a filthy rich film producer for a father. Patrick Dobson refused to acknowledge her as his daughter, too. What was wrong with these irresponsible bastards?

Until recently, Zach’s mother had led him to believe that Rudd Mason was his real father, and in the end, Rudd had turned against Allison and helped send her to prison. Damn him. Damn the whole, stinking lot. Again, Zach wished he was back in his room smoking pot and zoning out of his godforsaken, miserable existence.

“Hurry up!” Downing shouted into the barn. “You’re falling behind, Mason. Get a move on!”

“Screw you,” Zach muttered. Several wranglers, plus the hired help at Horse Emporium, were bustling like busy bees all around him. Not for the first time, Zach wished his real father would acknowledge him, because he was rich and could pay for his drugs. Then, he wouldn’t have to work for Downing, who was a son of a bitch to please.

Curt Downing stood on the dock but his attention turned from the lazy kid to notice his sister, Regan Mason, driving into the parking lot. Unlike her drugged-up brother, she was sharp and didn’t touch drugs. Regan had red hair like Zach, only hers was a dull red in comparison to his carrottop color. The very sight of her annoyed Downing, although he did like her from one standpoint. Regan was in her late twenties and had a killer body like her mother. Allison had known how to use sex to get what she wanted. What did Regan want? Downing tried to figure it out as he watched her climb out of her dark blue Chevy pickup and head directly toward the loading platform.

She was tall with full breasts, wide hips and long legs. Even though she wore a white cotton blouse and Levi’s, it did not detract from her sensual beauty. Downing saw the glinting look of a feral predator in her blue eyes as she quickly climbed the steps up to the bustling platform. Spotting him, Regan made a beeline for Curt.

“Is Zach here?” she demanded without preamble.

Curt nodded. “Yeah, but he’s busy earning his monthly paycheck.”

Regan disliked the millionaire rancher and her voice didn’t hide it. “I need to see him.”

“He’s working,” Downing said in a growl, glaring down at her. He saw the petulant set of her full mouth. Her red hair was in a single braid and hung down her long, curved back.

“When does he get a break, then?” she demanded, meeting his narrowed brown eyes.

Downing snorted. “He’s lucky to even have a break. Your candy-assed brother is weak and shuffles around like the pothead he is. For every bale of hay he manages to cart to the truck, my other wranglers have already put three of ’em in.”

Regan shot Downing a dirty look. He might be a tall, good-looking red-haired man in his midthirties, but his arrogance rubbed her the wrong way. He stood with his hands on his hips like he was lord of all he surveyed. “I should be grateful to you, Curt. You gave my brother a job when no one else would.” Before the ordeal with their mother, Zach had been holed up in his room smoking pot every day. He never took part in ranching. Even she knew he was lazy and spaced-out. But he was her half brother and she loved him.

Curt preened a little under Regan’s husky voice. He’d been trying to bed this woman for ages, but she always evaded him. “He does his best,” he said, giving her a slight smile. He knew from Regan’s many visits during Zach’s shifts that she was overly protective of her druggie stepbrother. When word got out in Jackson Hole about the Mason family’s poisonous, dysfunctional relationships, the town reeled in shock. Now, Regan and Zach lived in town and their every move was scrutinized by the citizenry. “So, what’s happening in your world?”

“I’m working on a Hollywood movie script.”

Curt was sure that Regan would send it to her estranged father, even though he refused to acknowledge her as his daughter.

“Word on the street is that you’ve written four scripts and all of them have been turned down by everyone in Hollywood.” Curt softened his tone a little. “Hollywood is the hardest place in the world to break into.”

Wrapping her arms around her chest, Regan muttered, “I’m not giving up. Once I break in, I’m leaving this place.”

Zach came staggering out with another bale between the hooks. He saw Regan, perked up and smiled a hello in her direction.

Regan lifted her hand. She watched her brother barely able to handle the bale. The other wranglers, all fit men in their twenties, were hustling back and forth with ease. Her heart sank as she watched her weak brother finally drop the bale onto the flatbed. “Mind if I take five minutes with him, Curt? I’m leaving unexpectedly for a job interview and he needs to know I’m leaving for a week.”

Curt didn’t want her hatred. And God knew, Regan hated with great ease. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks.” She walked quickly toward Zach.

Standing there watching his minions work, Curt felt victorious. The world was literally in his hands. He felt strong and invincible. He had a damn good crew over at Ace Trucking who were very well paid to receive and help distribute the drugs he ran to six different states around Wyoming. Pride sizzled through Curt. He laughed to himself because he was the regional drug lord and not one bastard suspected him. Such was his stealth and cunning at keeping it a buried secret here in Jackson Hole. Everyone looked up to him. He was a successful rancher and an astute businessman. And he could have any woman he wanted. Except, perhaps, Regan Mason. Eyeing her, Curt promised himself to relentlessly pursue her until he got her into his bed.

Curt spotted another flatbed truck pulling into the gravel yard. The truck was at least fifteen years old, a beat-up red Ford that had certainly seen better days. Scowling, he recognized the driver: Griff McPherson. But who was the woman with him? Curt couldn’t place her. His focus shifted to the flatbed now backed up next to his rig.

“Well, well,” he said to himself as he saw Griff get out. “He’s finally got a real job….”

Val eased out of the truck. The door squealed as she shut it. Turning around and seeing Curt Downing on the platform, she frowned. Great. She recognized his features from many years ago, and since her return Gus had been warning her about him. He’d been the rebellious son of Red Downing who had taken over his parents’ ranch after their deaths. Since then, Gus had told her, he’d become a local kingpin and made it known to everyone how filthy rich he was. With so many ranchers struggling just to make ends meet, Val couldn’t stand to see the arrogant look on his face. It turned her stomach.

She walked around the front of the truck to Griff.

“You start putting bales on the truck. I’ll pay Andy for them in the store.”

Griff nodded. He knew the way things worked around here. “No problem,” he said as he tugged on his elk-skin gloves and scooped up the two hooks from behind the seat. Val was all business. She hadn’t talked much on their drive to the Emporium. While he wished she’d be a little warmer, Griff understood better why she continued to be standoffish.

Looking up at the platform that swirled with wranglers, Griff saw Curt standing off to one side. The red-haired cowboy stared belligerently back at him. In addition to the FBI fingering him as a suspect, Griff disliked Downing because he was a cheat and a liar. He’d heard from Slade’s wife, Jordana, that he’d tried to hit Thor with a crop during the endurance contest. Downing had forced her off the trail and was well-known for such underhanded tricks. Word had it that other endurance riders had been at the end of his attacks, too. And Downing always did his dirty work out of the sight of judges so no one had proof. And in the world of endurance riding, it had to be seen to be believed by the judges.

Mounting the stairs, Griff saw Downing’s brown eyes go steely. He was Slade’s brother and there was automatic hate between them as a result. Griff had never done anything to Downing, but this man couldn’t separate them. He was a McPherson therefore, to be distrusted. Griff met his hard gaze with one of his own as he stepped onto the busy platform. He wasn’t going to make small talk with this bastard.

“Hey, McPherson, you finally get a gig?” Downing asked in a pleasant tone.

Griff halted about six feet away from the rancher. “Don’t you have better things to do, Downing?” He saw Downing’s mouth curve into a rueful smile.

“No, not really. Looks like you got a red-haired filly in that truck. Who is she?”

Anger moved through Griff. He saw the arrogant smile increase across Downing’s full lips. “That’s Val Hunter, owner of the Bar H.”

Brows rising, Downing said, “What?”

Seeing shock register on the man’s face, Griff moved past him and got on with the business of hauling fifty bales of grass hay to his flatbed. Griff figured few people knew Val had returned home. Chuckling to himself, he hooked the first bale and wrestled it out to the flatbed. He was sure Gwen Garner, the owner of the quilt store, would know. That was the place to go if anyone wanted to find out what was going on in Jackson Hole. He wondered if Downing would take a drive over there to talk with her. Probably.

Val emerged from the Horse Emporium. The sun was warm upon her shoulders. She looked toward the hay platform, filled with hardworking, sweaty men. What she didn’t like seeing was Curt Downing. He was such a pain in the ass.

Val retrieved her elk-skin gloves from the truck, intending to arrange the bales Griff had delivered to the truck.

“Hey!” Downing called, walking over to the edge of the platform.

Val looked up and frowned. “Yes?” she called, pulling on her gloves.

“I’m Curt Downing. You must be Val Hunter? Gus’s granddaughter, right?”

She hated even making small talk with this bastard. Hauling herself up into the bed of the truck, Val said, “Yes, I am. Excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

Nostrils flaring, Downing watched as she turned her back to him. Despite his anger at her affront, he watched the woman with interest, perusing her long, lean body. She was in fine shape as she moved those bales around, lifting them without a problem. Not only that, she was damn good-looking. When did she get into town? And why was she suddenly back? Rubbing his chin, Downing decided he’d have to make a call on Gwen Garner. She’d know a lot more. And it was obvious that Val wasn’t interested in talking to him. Too bad, Downing thought. He’d seen no ring on her left hand before she’d pulled on her work gloves. Maybe she came back because the Bar H was going belly-up? Curt had wanted to buy the two-hundred-acre ranch for a long time now. It was strategic to his valley-wide plans.

Moving down the stairs, he quickly walked to his red Chevy pickup and climbed in. While the mice were away, the cat could play. It was time he gave Gus Hunter a little visit.

* * *

GUS HEARD THE POUNDING on the screen door. She was in the kitchen making cookies when the harsh sound echoed down the hall.

“Hold your horses!” she yelled, wiping off her hands and grabbing her cane. Who could it be? Val and Griff had left an hour ago to get supplies in town.

Hobbling down the hall, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the door. Lifting her upper lip into a snarl, Gus quickly recognized him. She shoved the screen door open, making him leap back.

“What the hell you doin’ here?”

Curt doffed his cowboy hat in deference to the small woman glaring up at him. “Why, Miss Gus, I thought I’d drop by and say hello.” Downing held up a sack. “I brought us some lattes. I thought we might sit out here on your porch and chat a spell?” Curt saw the silver-haired woman sneer at him. Oh, he knew Gus was a red-hot pistol. She spoke her mind and didn’t care at all about diplomacy. He added a hopeful smile and gave her a pleading look. “Please?”

Snorting softly, Gus let the screen door slam shut behind her. “You listen to me, you young whippersnapper, I’m not interested in sellin’ the Bar H! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Curt ambled over to the small table near the swing at the end of the enclosed porch. “Why, Miss Gus, you misunderstand my intentions,” he said in a soothing voice. Setting the sack down, Curt opened it up and placed two Starbucks coffee cups on the table. “I was at the Horse Emporium just now and I saw your truck. Griff McPherson was driving it.” He walked over and offered one to Gus. “I was surprised. I wanted to make sure that he hadn’t stolen it from you.” Curt congratulated himself on planting seeds in her mind that McPherson was not to be trusted.

“Get that crappy coffee outta my face!” She raised her cane and threatened to strike the cup out of Downing’s hand. “I like real coffee! Not that citified stuff!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Gus.” Curt feigned a hurt look. He quickly placed the cups back into the sack. “Might you invite me in for a real cup of coffee, then?” He added a warm smile along with a coaxing look he hoped would melt her anger.

Gus scowled. “I’d rather invite a pissed-off rattler in to dine with me, Downing.”

He looked up and placed his hand over his heart. “Miss Gus, you hurt me to the quick.”

“You can’t hurt a rock.”

Downing had always respected her spunk. Prodding Gus was like prodding a bull elk in heat: you knew he would get angry and charge. “Now, Miss Gus, I came out here with concern for you. That was your flatbed I saw at the Horse Emporium?”

“Of course it was! And what business is that of yours? You aren’t Gwen Garner! I don’t mind speaking to her, but you, I don’t trust any further than I could throw you.”

Curt smiled inwardly. The old woman’s face was pinched, angry, and she looked like she was going to have a heart attack any moment. Not that he would mind. Then he could scoop up her ranch. “Miss Gus, I saw a lovely young red-haired woman with McPherson,” he said, playing dumb. “She was in the truck with him. Who is that?”

Gus grinned savagely. “That, Downing, is my granddaughter, Val Hunter.”

Downing pretended to be as shocked as he was at the Emporium earlier. “What? I thought she was in the Air Force? Is she on leave to visit you?”

“No, you fool, she’s home for good!” Gus pointed to her hip. “And it’s not gone past your nose to know I can’t handle this ranch by myself any longer because of my broken hip. Everyone in town knows it never healed right. Val has come home to help get the ranch back up to an operational level.”

“I see….” Downing choked and nervously coughed. His mind spun with shock. He’d been expecting Gus to put up the For Sale sign any minute precisely because she was now crippled and no longer able to work. This was a definite setback. “But…what about McPherson? Yesterday, he worked at the Horse Emporium.”

Giving him an irritated look, Gus barked, “Well, he’s now our wrangler. With Val and Mr. McPherson’s help, the Bar H is going to be just fine. How about that, Mr. Big Shot?” Gus waved her cane in his face. “I know your type. You’re like a snake that slinks through the bushes just waiting for the right moment to lunge out and bite someone on the ankle. But you ain’t gettin’ our ranch. So don’t even think you can!”

Standing there, Curt felt like the world had fallen out from beneath him. Damn! He desperately needed this ranch! Of course, he couldn’t tell the angry old woman why. Even if he could, it’d only raise her hackles more. “I’m so glad to hear you got help once more, Miss Gus,” he murmured in a placating tone, trying to ratchet down her anger toward him. Walking over to the table, Curt picked up the sack. Turning, he said, “I really hope that your granddaughter can stay.”

“Oh, she’ll stay. This is her home!” Gus said, jabbing her finger down at the porch. “You know ranch families stick together. And I know you’re wantin’ to buy up any ranch land you can get your filthy hands on. Well, it won’t be our ranch. Git goin’, Mister. I have cookies to bake and I don’t like talkin’ to the likes of you!”

Moving down the porch steps, Downing turned, doffed his hat again and said, “I wish you a good day, Miss Gus. I’m here for you in case you need any help. The Bar H has a wonderful history and I know with your granddaughter home, things will get better. Good day.”

Gus snorted, breathing raggedly as she watched the bastard climb into his big gussied-up truck. The damned pickup held so much chrome it glittered like a Christmas ornament. But that was Downing. She’d watched him grow into a bully through the twelve grades of school. His father, Red, had been a bully, too. An abusive drunk always causing havoc for people in the valley. There were times when she’d hear that Curt had a black eye at school. And a small part of her felt sorry for the younger Downing. Well, minus the drunkard part, the kid had grown up to be just like his daddy.

Gus watched the truck pull out of the driveway. And then she saw that Val and Griff had returned. The two trucks passed one another on the road into the ranch. She watched Griff drive the truck around to the barn. Hobbling off the porch, Gus went to greet them.

Val climbed out of the truck as Gus approached. “Was that Curt Downing we just passed?”

“Sure as hell was.” Gus looked up at the bales of hay tied down on the flatbed.

“What did he want?”

Griff came around the truck to hear the conversation. Gus was clearly upset, her eyes narrow along with her pursed lips. He saw Val was concerned because she tugged at her ponytail. It was a habit he’d seen before and finally recognized it for what it was.

Gus told them what had transpired. She patted Val’s arm. “Now, get that worry wiped off your face. He’s gone and out of our lives.”

Griff pushed his hat up on his head. “Downing was surprised that we’re here?”

Cackling, Gus said, “Oh, it looked for a moment like he was going to fall through the porch. He was that surprised!”

Griff grinned a little. Gus got pure pleasure out of meeting Downing head-on. He liked her backbone. She might be small but that didn’t stop her from taking on the likes of Downing. Most of the town was afraid of him, but Gus was not. “Are you okay?”

“Ohhh,” Gus said, reaching out and patting Griff’s arm, “I’m fine, son. Not to worry. I’m not afraid of that bully!”

Val frowned. “He came out to ask about me?”

“Yep,” Gus said. “He’s a nosy son-of-a-gun.”

Mouth quirking, Griff said, “I’m going to start moving this hay inside, ladies.”

Val was pleased to see the wrangler move into action. She placed a hand on Gus’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go in? You look like you’re in pain, Gus. Do you need some aspirin?”

Moving her hand over her hip, Gus muttered, “Yeah, Downing got my dander up for sure. I was waving my cane around instead of using it to support myself.”

Smiling gently, Val said, “Come on, I’ll walk you back into the house.”

Nodding, Gus gripped her hand. “You’re a good granddaughter. Do you know that? It’s nice to be taken care of every once in a while.”

Laughing a little, Val escorted Gus back toward the house. The morning sun was warm, the sky blue and there was a pine scented breeze. “Oh, Gus, I always worry about you. You’re like a little banty rooster. I agree, Downing is dangerous and I don’t trust him. But you don’t need to get your blood pressure up because of him.”

“He’s a snake snoopin’ around, Val. You can’t ever trust a snake!”

Gus was moving very slowly and in obvious pain. “You know, I heard a commercial for the Scooter Store on the radio this morning when we were driving into town, Gus. A power chair could get you around here much more easily, even outside.”

“Oh, don’t you start jawin’ about a scooter for me. Cowgirls ride horses. What an embarrassing comedown.”

Chuckling, Val knew it would take a while to get her grandmother to consider another type of transportation. She was a proud, tough, Wyoming rancher woman who was used to using her two legs to get where she was going. Helping her slowly negotiate the stairs to the porch, Val replied, “Maybe we can talk about it another time.”

Gus snorted. She rested a moment at the top of the stairs. “I’ll bet Downing’s heading for Gwen Garner’s quilt shop. He’s gonna ply her with questions about you.”

Unconcerned, Val opened the screen door for Gus. “Gwen is a trusted friend to our family. I’m not worried about her. Come on, I’ll make us some coffee and you can sit down and give that hip of yours a rest.”

“Might help me finish those cookies, too?”

Grinning, Val said, “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER SIX

GWEN GARNER STOOD at the rear of her quilting store next to a grocery cart filled with new fabrics that had to be placed out for sale. The store was busy and she had her head down, tucking a bright, colorful Hoffman batik fabric into place when someone tapped her smartly on the shoulder.

Looking up, Gwen scowled. “Mr. Downing.” She continued placing the fabric into the end cap.

“Mrs. Garner, how are you today?” Curt tipped his tan Stetson hat in her direction. He saw her face turn sour. Curt didn’t like having to come into the quilt shop and beg for information. And by the look in Gwen’s narrowing eyes, he wondered if coming here was smart. He added a hopeful smile and settled his hat on his head. “I was just over at Andy’s Horse Emporium getting hay for my horses when I saw Val Hunter.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you know she was in town?”

Gwen pushed her cart to the next island of fabrics. “Of course I did, Mr. Downing.”

Curt followed her, keeping his voice low and always scanning the store. “Val was in the Air Force. She was making a career of it. Why would she return home?”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Gwen said, “It ought to be pretty obvious, Mr. Downing. After Gus broke her hip, she couldn’t maintain the Bar H by herself. She asked her granddaughter to come home and help.”

“Wow,” Curt said, “that’s asking a lot.”

“Ranching families stick together,” she retorted, iciness in her tone as she picked up another bolt of fabric and slid it into place.

Continuing to follow her, Curt asked, “Then, she’s here for good?” That made him anxious. The old biddy wouldn’t sell no matter what.

“As far as I know, yes.”

“A shame to throw away her career like that.”

“And an even bigger shame if a family ranch goes belly-up, don’t you think?”

Curt tried to hide his irritation. Gwen obviously didn’t want to talk to him, her voice sharp with rebuke over his questions. “I mean,” he said, “why not hire a wrangler or two?”

“Enough of this, Mr. Downing.” Gwen jammed her hands on her hips. “I don’t pretend to know what’s in the mind of anyone, but the facts are in front of your nose. Val Hunter has come home for good.” She gave him a frosty smile. “Guess that sort of stops your plan to steal the Bar H out from under Gus, doesn’t it?”

Curt felt heat sweeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. He clenched his teeth for a moment, his jaw becoming hard. This bitch of a woman was too powerful in Jackson Hole. He hated her, but he needed her. If she only knew what he could do to her and her family… Forcing a thin smile, he continued, “You have to admit, the Bar H is a very nice property. With Long Lake on half of it, I could see bringing in a realty development to build a lot of condos. It could be a great place for tourists and their families. And it would help the town’s economy.”

Nostrils flaring, Gwen said, “Gus knows you would never honor the ranch or its land. Frankly, I’m glad Val is home.”

Curt watched as Gwen turned around and pushed the cart down another aisle. He didn’t follow her this time. Hiding his anger toward the woman, he strolled out of the quilt shop. On the wooden porch, Curt looked around. He decided to go visit his Realtor, Bobby Fortner. It was a mere walk around the corner to Raven Realty.

Fortner was at his desk when Curt entered his office. Instantly, the short man was on his feet.

“Mr. Downing, an unexpected pleasure.” Fortner scuttled around his massive oak desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. “Please, have a seat. May I get you some coffee?”

This was more like it. Curt secretly reveled in Fortner’s beta wolf reaction to him. He should. Over the years, he’d made this plain man with squinty brown eyes and lifeless black hair very rich. “Thank you, Bobby. And no, I’ll pass on the coffee.”

Quickly running his short, thin fingers through his hair, Bobby sat down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Downing?”

“Well,” Curt said, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, “I need more in-depth information on the Bar H.”

“Oh, yes sir.” Bobby quickly typed the name into the computer in front of him. “What would you like to know?”

“First, is it completely paid off? Or is there a still a mortgage on it? Any liens?”

“No, it’s paid in full and no liens, sir.” Fortner’s brow scrunched. “They continue to be up-to-date with their property taxes, too.” He peered around his computer. “Is this what you needed?”

Mouth thinning, Curt growled, “Yes, I suppose so. If that crusty old woman wasn’t so damned stubborn, the Bar H would have been easy to snap up.”

“I know you’ve wanted the property for a long time. You’re looking for ways to get Miss Gus to hand it over.” Fortner shrugged. “Realistically, unless she wants to sell it, there’s nothing else that can be done.”

Snarling out of frustration, Downing said, “She’s eighty-four years old, for God’s sake. You’d think she’d die. I need that ranch, dammit!” Curt clenched his fist. Fortner had no idea he moved drugs for a Mexican cartel, but he didn’t seem suspicious of why Curt wanted the land so badly.

“Short of a forest fire or an earthquake taking the ranch down,” Bobby said in jest, “I don’t know what else could be done.”

Curt thought about the Realtor’s offhand remark but said nothing further about it to Fortner. The Bar H stood in a clearing and was surrounded by heavy forest. “I want you to go out and visit Miss Gus. Be nice to her. See if she’ll bite on my offer again. Up the bid to one point five million dollars. That should get her attention.”

“I’ll try, but she always turns me down,” Bobby said, giving him a helpless look.

“Take a box of chocolates to the old dame. Just get her talking and see what her ideas are for the ranch. But call ahead and make an appointment. She hates someone showing up unannounced.”

Flustered, Bobby wiped his perspiring brow with his handkerchief. “Er…you want me to just drop by, chat and find out what I can?”

Rising to his feet, Curt said, “Yes. She’ll talk to you more easily than she did to me.” He didn’t add that Miss Gus had practically thrown him off the property, such was her hate for him. Settling his cowboy hat on his head, Curt walked to the door. “Call me after your visit.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Curt left the office. As he walked around the corner toward his bright red truck, his mind revolved around how to get Miss Gus out of that damned property so he could have it. He needed it. Now. Not later. Fortner’s offhand comment about a forest fire consuming the ranch had given him a new idea.

* * *

GRIFF WAS IN THE BARN WITH the parts from an old automatic posthole digger spread across a canvas on the floor. The day was warm and he appreciated the breeze through the box stall area where he was repairing the cranky equipment. Working alone for long stretches of time had given him time to think. The honesty and goodness of Miss Gus and Val had shown him how important it was to have integrity. It made him really want to apologize to Slade for the way he had treated him when he was a big shot on Wall Street. His brother had needed his help and he hadn’t offered it. He felt terrible about it now and realized the right thing was to apologize sincerely to his twin.

He heard footsteps approaching across the concrete. Lifting his head, he saw it was Val. Griff felt she was a secret pleasure to him. She was tall, lithe, her red hair in a ponytail swinging behind her shoulders. Even though she wore typical ranch clothing, Levi’s and a white, short-sleeved tee, they lovingly outlined her body. He wondered as he had many times if she had a man in her life. He’d not heard it come up in table talk and wasn’t about to broach the topic himself. That would have been out of line. He was the hired hand. Not a family member.

“How’s it going?” Val asked, halting and studying the parts of the posthole digger. She tried to quell her reaction to Griff’s gaze. On his hands and knees, a wooden toolbox nearby, he was easy to look at. The light and dark in the barn accentuated the hard planes of his sun-darkened face.

Griff gave her a half smile and he wiped his hands off on a nearby rag. “It’s going.”

“That thing hasn’t been used in years,” Val said. “I’m sure the carburetor needs to be cleaned out or replaced.”

“You’re right,” Griff agreed. He pointed to the engine piece. “I was just starting to pull it apart to see if it’s gummed up. I’m sure it is.” And that meant buying a rebuilt carburetor for the digger. If one could be found.

“Did you try starting it first?”

“I broke the rope trying to get it going. I’ll have to buy a replacement rope in town.” Griff had a tough time keeping his eyes on his work. Val was a powerful draw. Loneliness, having been without a woman for a long time, was part of the allure. Another, which Griff tucked away in his heart, was his appreciation of her as a woman who was not only attractive but had a lot of common sense. Val was nothing like the women he’d had relationships with in New York City. They were beautiful tropical birds in comparison and would never survive the harsh environment of ranch life. Val wore no jewelry, no makeup, not even lipstick. She didn’t need cosmetics. Her lips were a natural pink color. Most of all, he liked her freckles. They made her look like a young girl instead of the mature woman she was.

Val picked up the frayed and broken rope. “Well, this auger is about thirty years old. It’s DOA, dead on arrival.” She squatted in front of him, elbows resting on her thighs, opposite of where he was working. Griff had strong-looking fingers and yet, he expertly opened the engine and delicately began checking it with expert ease. His head was bent and she had a chance to absorb his strong profile. His mouth, which she found delicious, was pursed as he focused on his inspection. Her curiosity got the better of her.

“Do you miss your home?”

“What?” Griff looked up briefly. He saw in Val’s face that she was open to his answer, and she was almost approachable. It was the first time she’d talked to him in a voice other than that of a boss, and it took him by surprise. Recovering, he managed a twisted smile. “New York? No.”

“Why not? You lived there most of your life.”

“I didn’t have a choice as a kid,” he said, his fingers getting oily and dirty as he studied the carburetor. “I do as an adult.”

“Do you think you’d have come back here if you hadn’t lost your job?”

Shrugging, Griff said, “Probably not. But that’s how things happen. Life takes unexpected turns.” He looked up to see her features grow pensive. Did Val know how beautiful her blue eyes were? He wished he could tell her their color reminded him of the deep blue sky after sunset, but Griff thought better of sharing the observation. After all, she was his boss.

“I’m sorry you lost your aunt and uncle. And then to have your business fail. That must have been hard on you.”

“It was a tough time,” Griff agreed. Although it had helped to work with the FBI to help clean up the mess left behind. He’d done it gratis because he felt he’d been partly responsible for the economic collapse. The least he could do was help the FBI understand the inner workings of his and other firms on Wall Street. It had eased his guilt.

“I wonder how anyone could deal with losing all their money at once. Especially millions of dollars.” Val studied him intently and watched his mouth pull in at the corners. Griff was experiencing frustration or pain of some kind over her probing question.

Placing the carburetor into a pan that had some cleaning fluid in it, he said, “My parents didn’t have much money.” My Dad would hunt deer and elk to put meat on our table. We were pretty much raised on wild food. When I got taken back east by my uncle, it was a whole other life for me to adjust to.” Griff glanced up at her. Val’s eyes were readable and he saw so many emotions in them. Heartened that she cared, he decided to open up. “At first, I wasn’t used to the rich foods they gave me. I remember eating too much one time and throwing it up afterward.” Griff added, “I was a poor ranch kid who lived off the land, not off the fat of the land.”

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